Falling through the safety net
by juliasejanus
Summary: Over 100,000 adults go missing every year in Britain. Those considered vulnerable or with mental health issues are at high risk. Turning 18, Alex Rider feels trapped by his past, so he runs. Living in London, working for cash, staying in squats, sheds and on the streets. Avoiding any connection with official channels or his past. WARNING MALE/MALE SEXUAL SITUATIONS DISCUSSED
1. Chapter 1

Mrs Jones had come to St. Brendan's House in Kensington to give Alex Rider a birthday card. Tomorrow was his 18th Birthday. She also had to break the bad news that the money held in trust for him was to remain in trust despite the original plan to release the funds left by his parents and Ian Rider on Alex's majority. In the past year, he had left his placement with the Pleasure's, to return to London. He had not had a good time since he had last crossed paths with Mrs Jones. At sixteen he had spent several months in a Psychiatric Unit, after a breakdown at High School, and his relationship with his foster family had gone from trusting and nurturing to cold and confrontational as Alex would not accept his on going problems had needed him to be hospitalised against his will. Life in London had seen him assigned a social worker and had been assessed with Serious Mental Health Issues and placed in assisted living bedsit. The shelter offered semi-independence and ensured the young man took his prescribed medication and attended his therapy sessions. So, far there had been no relapses in self-harm and controlling behaviour. Alex was improving, but the social workers had advised against giving Alex access to the money from the investments and the freehold property at Cheyne Walk, which generated a considerable sum every month.

The Director of Special Operations had followed the ex-agent's progress. She had spoken several times to the manager at St. Brendan's, Alex's Social Worker and his psychiatrist. "You are going really well here. I spoke to Mr. Marchant and he thinks you should go back to college, now you're settled here."

Alex looked at the woman he truly despised. "Aren't you here to give me back the keys to my house in Chelsea. I've been here long enough. I've proved I can cope. Its been nearly two years since my last bad turn."

"Cheyne Walk has been rented since you were fostered by the Pleasures. The current tenancy does not run out until 2009. I spoke to Miss Curran at Kensington and Chelsea Council, she has stated your placement here is not under threat. This will be your home until you start work or go to college."

"I completed my High School Equivalency before I left California. I see no point in NVQ's or A Levels. University is a complete waste of time. I was hoping to rent out rooms in Chelsea and live on the proceeds. Maybe get a part time job teaching karate or work at home doing translations." Alex exhaled, upset that his hopes of escape had been scuppered once again by those bastards at the Bank, who still controlled his future. "The last time I asked about a Housing Association Flat, I was told no way, unless I got some bird pregnant. I refuse to procreate and I don't date anyway." Alex looked at his wardrobe where he had placed his rucksack, already packed for his expected escape from this hell. He hated the fact he was living with druggies and ex-cons. Liz and Edward did not know how to cope when he'd stopped sleeping or eating, started cutting and self-medicating. He had left more out of need to escape pity and their attempts at trying to make him normal. He was broken and had no wish to be a productive member of society. Not when getting well, just would put him back in line for 'helping' MI6 with situations he was trained to deal with.

"I'm sure I could get you a scholarship for university. You are bright Alex. Ian got a first. Within a year you could get A Levels in Modern Languages and study at London. If you continue to improve you could come back and work for us. We need analysts with your expertise."

Alex then got the fact, they controlled his inheritance, continue to jump through the right hoops and you can go to uni, then work for them. Do that and you get your money. "I do not need you mothering me. I do not want anything to do with you or anyone at the Bank. Keep your card, Tulip. I already sent Sabina's and her parent's gift back. You already know I haven't spoken to Tom since Cairo. You made sure I can't have friends. No chance you shooting them to get me to jump to your tune. Just fuck off back to your nice secure world where you do no wrong."

The woman left with one look back at the young man sat on his single bed. The room was small with no adornment. Alex had not attempted to make this room home. His bedroom in San Francisco had also not been personalised. It was as if Alex considered these rooms are temporary, never home. He was clinging fiercely to the past, when home had been a house in Chelsea with Jack. Tulip Jones had the sinking feeling that Alex was not recovering and would never bounce back from the horrors he had survived. He discussed past torments avoiding details of operations. The world of secrets and national security meant this child operative could never fully explain the situations that had broken him.

…

6AM on 13th February 2005, the duty sergeant at Kensington Police Station took a call from St. Brendan's House. The duty manager was reporting the disappearance of an at risk eighteen year old with serious mental health issues. Alexander John Rider had disappeared from the half way house during the night, taking all his belongings with him. The security system had been disabled.


	2. Chapter 2

There is an underclass in London, those who work for cash in hand, who do not appear on the census, do not pay tax or collect benefits. Some live on the street, begging to survive. This was the life eighteen year old Alex Rider had chosen. He was better equipped that most for the harsh realities of living hand to mouth. Skills learned to equip him as a life as a spy now allowed him to live under the radar.

The first few months were spent picking pockets inter spaced by working in pubs, restaurants, hotels and building sites doing unskilled work. Alex did not mind cleaning work as it meant you were indoors and were normally fed and watered as part of the deal. He made friends with others hiding from the authorities. Through these friends he picked up new skills, learned to communicate in Czech, Polish, Romania, Urdu and Farsi. There were a few like him, British or Irish starting a new life without the stigma of being an ex-mental patient, ex-con or former addict. Some had run from abusive families or partners and there were a few veterans, who had left everything they knew far behind and were on the long hard slog back to a normal life. Those who by a few bad choices or sheer bad luck had ended up homeless were most willing to seek and accept help. Alex wanted nothing to do with normal. No bank account, no tax record, no signing on, no going to shelters and steering clear of hospitals, doctors, dentists and the police.

Alex kept moving and got to know London well from Stratford to Hammersmith, Balham to Holborn. There were plenty of squats, derelict and abandoned buildings to live in and enough work, when you weren't picky what you did. As the summer turned to autumn Alex looked for warmer digs with mod cons.

The Dragon Inn in Pimlico had not succumbed to modernisation into a Gastropub or Wine Bar and it remained a small freehouse, whose publican was a proud Londoner born and bred. Charlie Dodds hated the yuppification of Westminster and Chelsea. Only a few of his regulars were what he considered locals. He put an advert into the local newsagent for a live in barman/handy man. He wasn't sexist but he was getting on and needed a young lad to do the cellar work. The place was in dire need of fixing up and he did not have enough spare cash for a proper builder. Most who turned up had no references and no skills and wanted proper wages, not room and board. After the fifth Aussie asking about overtime rates, Charlie thought he was asking for the moon on a stick.

As he pulled a pints of Guinness for some Construction Workers who were earning a packet building the horrible apartment block down the road. A dark haired youth, still wet behind the ears asked about the job. This time, the kid had sounded local and had references, having worked for Shev Patel, doing up houses for two months. "I can only do basic plumbing or electrics. Nothing gas or technical. You'll need certification for those anyway but I can tile, do most joining but I'm not an expert carpenter. I can fix roofs, guttering, repoint brickwork, I reckon I can have a fair bash at most things. Oh, I can paint and wallpaper. Mr. Patel wrote me a nice reference." The kid then handed over an envelope.

The fifty something publican knew Shev Patel by reputation. The man was a self made millionaire, his dad still ran a corner shop in Bermonsey. Buying slums and repossessions and doing them up to rent out. He had a reputation of hiring his own workers, not using outsourced builders and paying cash in hand.

"Says here Mr. Patel wanted to make you a site manager."

"You need to go to college for that. I got kicked out of Brookland in Year 10 and really hated it there. I just want freedom for a few years before even thinking about any more school. I turned 18 in February and I've worked in seven pubs and two restaurants as a temporary worker. I can clear up, use a dishwasher, change a barrel, clean lines and pull pints. I've no real experience of catering apart from peeling potatoes and a bit of serving, but not silver service standard."

"I just serve sandwiches and light snacks, I really need help to update the kitchen. I've got new units in the back, up to proper hygiene spec, but I need someone to rip out the old kitchen, make good the walls and tile. I've priced up for the plumber and electrician. Also for a new floor. Can you do that?"

"You can show me the kitchen but I think I can manage."

Charlie was more than happy to hire a local lad, London born and bred, like himself.

Alex was happy to settle down even if it was rather near to Chelsea. Not that he knew Pimlico well. He had no illusions that he would bump into anyone that would recognise him. He had dyed his hair mid-brown and wore glasses when serving on the bar. It made him look more like a student than one step from the doss house. He was thankful for Primark and charity shops, as he needed to look sort of smart for work, unlike on the building site.

In late September Alex got a card for Sabina's twentieth birthday and posted it care of the English Department at York. Inside was a short note saying he was OK and a gift voucher for Monsoon, better than nothing and this way he did not have to go shopping for a girl who was impossible to buy for. He missed her. He regretted cutting her and her family out of his life, but it had been a necessary evil. His prediction about MI6 coming back into his life had been proved true. Better to have no friends at all than let them be used as pawns. Once bitten, twice shy. Alex had learned the Bank's true colours when Tom had been hurt and Jack murdered.


	3. Chapter 3

In the quiet of a January evening, there were only a few die hard drinkers in the Dragon, braving the icy sub zero cold. It was Monday, the day the lad had off. Charlie was stood watching the snooker on the TV screen in the public bar. His only attempt at modernisation. He refused to have a jukebox or any slot machines as he found them disruptive. The door opened and an icy blast of air announced the arrival of Baz, retired sergeant major in the Royal Engineers. "Evening Charlie, pint of my usual."

"Good to see you Baz. Have a good Christmas?"

"It was noisy, my daughter's boyfriend is a bit of a punk rocker. I was glad when he went out, none of that noise he called music. Janine is still a daddy's girl, she treated me to some excellent food. Then spent her time complaining about Pat's new husband. She's barely civil to her mum these days. Phil ain't that bad."

"He ain't you, is he. You look half frozen, mate. Get yourself into the snug by the fire." Charlie had met Phil the plumber, the man was loud and obnoxious, happy to flaunt his wealth.

"And have to make conversation with Bea, no thanks. I'll warm up soon enough." With that the old soldier took a big swig of his bitter and then lit up a cigarette. He hated the fact he was now a magnet for every single woman within a five mile radius. He might be divorced, but the only woman for him was his Patricia. He was getting used to being single, living in his small studio apartment. It was like being back in the army, he spent his evening either at the Legion or the Dragon. Dating was the last thing on his mind. He thanked his lucky stars his daughter was still in contact. Most of his divorced friends had terrible relationships with their kids.

Charlie went around to collect the three dirty glasses. As he arrived back to serve "So, what do you make of my new barman?"

"Alex, knows his stuff, bright and sharp. I had a long chat to him about him joining the army. Turns out he has a heart condition. Told me his father was a paratrooper. What I could piece together, he spent a lot of time in foster care. Someone along the way did a number on him. Probably his uncle. He's had a rough deal, no mistake. He reminds me of Dan in my regiment." The old man scratched his moustache and thought of Dangerous Dan. Depression and PTSD had taken their toll on Dan, who had drunk himself to death. The kid was completely teetotal. Not even tempted with the occasional half.

"Yeah, the kid changes the subject when I ask about family. He's been on the streets and trying to find his feet. If he was some Jonny foreigner he'd be on the social in a nice council flat. That kid wants to be independent. He's a hard worker, he'll do alright. Then again I get the feeling that kid has learned to look after himself because there was no one looking out for him and he prefers that way."

…

The end of February was approaching, it was time to move on. Alex had really liked working for Charlie. His room had been barely big enough for its narrow bed, but it was warm and dry. The kitchen was finished, Alex had helped paint Charlie's living room as well. Now, the publican was looking for a cook or chef, maybe even someone who wanted to take over as he was getting too old for heavy work. Alex had liked the atmosphere, the right mix of regulars, tourists, students and passing trade. Charlie knew how to serve a decent pint and Alex had learned that bar work was something he liked. Listening to normal problems and ordinary lives. He knew Charlie was worried about him. Being so anti-establishment was not normal. Baz, one of the regulars had Alex sussed, he guess Alex had been abused badly and had major trust issues. It did not help that his driving licence was addresses for St. Brendan's. They knew he was an OK kid but one that society had failed. The old gits were the type that did not make a fuss and if the kid didn't want to be on the social that was his choice, end of story.

Working in a pub had also been good for Alex's sex life. He was no longer a virgin. He could thank the bitterly divorced Mrs Beatrice MacKenzie for popping his cherry. The forty something had needed cheering up after her husband on nearly twenty-five years left to shack up with his twenty-two year old PA. It had not started out as a date, but Charlie insisting Alex see the tipsy and upset lady home. He had been a perfect gentleman. The next day he had asked her to lunch, to cheer her up. She reminded him a bit of the serial heartbreaks Jack suffered over each and every one of her boyfriends. After a trip to the cinema, Bea had invited him to her place for a coffee. It could have been described as two lonely people connecting. In reality, it was tender, slow and wonderful. Alex had learned there was much more to sex than the mere act of fucking. Alex had been taught consideration, patience, sensual touch, foreplay and erogenous zones were the way to please a lady. Their brief fling had given Bea her confidence back. She was going out to enjoy herself, not in the single minded pursuit of a new man. She was no longer a wife but she was still a beautiful, desirable woman.

The time in Pimlico had healed some raw wounds for the ex-spy. Living with normal people had shown him his decision to walk away from Ian's money had been the right one. He was poor, but he did not need a house in Chelsea or the threat of the Bank hanging over him. This was freedom at a price, but it was better than the alternative.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex carefully packed away his tools and his pack-up lunch, before leaving work. Keeping his head down as he left, not to draw attention to his sudden departure. He had worked for Murphy &amp; Sons as a roofer for nearly a year. Brilliant pay, enough for him to have decent digs, purchase a pay as you go mobile and buy all his safety gear. He hoisted his bag over his shoulder and made it onto the street without anyone stopping him. This had been a big job for Murphy's, one they needed as work had dried up except small domestic jobs. Alex not having any official accreditation was the reason he had to go as the site's health and safety policy insisted on it. Declan Murphy had stated he'd still use Alex for small jobs but the unemployed roofer was a realist. Alex had only been kept working as he was paid six pounds an hour not the expected 12. He technically had no insurance or any training beyond the fact old man Murphy thought he was the best worker they'd had in years. It helped by the fact Alex loved working at height and had no problem with harnesses. Now, Alex would hand in his notice for his room, as it was obviously time to move on. So from Enfield back to his old haunts in central London. Times were hard, unemployment was a fact for thousands in the capital due to the economic downturn in the construction trades. The young drifter could not complain, he had worked nearly non-stop for three years. He had over ten glowing references now. The problem was most prospective employers wanted some professional qualifications or accreditation, and the fact it was normal to expect PAYE. Life seemed to be dragging him back to short term, low paid, unskilled jobs where no one cared about the grunt doing it. Alex still did not want to be normal as paying tax, getting a bank account or even renting a place for himself would make him visible to MI6.

He was thankful that Mr. Patel had offered him work again, but the man was insisting if he wanted full time work he needed to go on the books. Alex then got evening work at a local pub, to earn pin money. In a change of tack, he put cards in newsagents windows in Tooting, Hammersmith and Hounslow as a handyman/painter and decorator. Not having transport may be an issue but he could always buy a banger with 6 months tax on it and not worrying as he wouldn't be the only uninsured van on the road. He was living in a squat with several other of society's dropouts. The house was noisy and crowded. Alex had put three locks and two deadbolts on his bedroom door to keep out the pikeys. The window was nailed shut with boards on the exterior. At least there was electricity, gas and water, though that could be cut off at any moment. A new lock on the front and back doors had effectively shut out the absentee landlord and it would be months before repossession by the bailiffs. Squats were never ideal but it was better than the street.

The message left for Alex the Handyman on his mobile had requested his services to redecorate a house in Twickenham. That would be his first job as a self employed tradesman. He turned up smartly dressed and hoped for more than a couple days work.

An old lady peeked out from behind the door chain. "Mr. Handyman I presume?"

"I prefer Alex, Mrs. Drummond."

The door closed and then opened again once the chain was undone. "Do come in to the kitchen, for a cup of tea and a slice of cake. After refreshments, we'll discuss business."

The charming lady spoke of peeling wallpaper and a need to freshen up the entire house, including the exterior. She had wisely suggested he start with the hall, as a test of his skills and professionalism.

Alex offered to come with her to the local B&amp;Q to pick out wallpaper. She then smiled at him and said "I would like to know your full name and to see those references you mentioned before we agree on a plan of action"

"Right, my full name is Alexander John Rider and I'm twenty-one years old. I do prefer just Alex though."

Mrs. Drummond slowly read through the references, which told her of a hard working, excellent and efficient employee who was never late and always polite. "Named for your grandfather or father, I presume, with such traditional names" the woman said slyly.

"John was my father's name. I have no idea about my grandparents as I'm an orphan and both my parents died when I was three months old." Alex explained to the inquisitive old busybody.

"Oh I am so sorry, my condolences. I guest you were adopted then?"

"Nahh, my uncle got custody and a series of nannies and housekeepers brought me up. I only saw Ian during holidays. He died when I was fourteen then I got to know how delightful complete uncertainty was. I ended up being foster several times after a short stint at an awful public school and ended up in a halfway house at seventeen and when I was eighteen I was meant to inherit enough to be comfortable and I was planning on setting up my own business. However, the people who looked after the trust, from my uncles and parent's bequests, changed the terms and conditions on me. I had to go to college to get A Levels, then university, get a job in the Bank where my uncle worked. It was a never ending series of hoops to jump through and I recalled hated school. So, I decided I didn't need the dosh, I've been managing with cash in hand jobs since. I quite like living for me and being in complete control of my destiny."

"Families are strange things. More about hurt and betrayal, than love in my experience. I was unhappily married for thirty years. Trapped by fear and threats. My daughter is the mirror of her father; cold, controlling and always right. We do not see eye to eye. In fact, we have not spoken since she tried to have me placed in an old peoples home. Cyril was a horror when he was alive but he left everything to me on his death. Donna thinks it all belongs to her by right."

"From that I take it you are leaving the lot to your favourite charities." Alex liked how this woman thought. Revenge was a dish best served cold. Alex himself had already made a will, with copies sent to Edward Pleasure and Dieter Sprintz. He had left all the money he did not want to be split between his Point Blanc Academy classmates, Sabina and Tom, or their chosen heirs. He had also stipulated that he expected them to give as much as was comfortable to their favourite charitable causes or just to spend, spend, spend every penny. Alex did not expect to live to a ripe old age but the last three years had shown him any knock backs were temporary and the good life was a warm dry bed and having a full belly. As he drank the third cup of tea and helped himself to another slice of fruitcake, Alex raised his mug to his new employer, "To a successful partnership."


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a long day of hard graft and Alex was glad to have stopped off for fish and chips on the way home. He had been landscaping today, a posh way of describing shifting several tonnes of muck using shovel and wheelbarrow. This week he was labouring for a local garden designer, for a townhouse in Hampton Hill. Alex was picked up at 7 and dropped home at 5:30. He had worked late today to finish the soil moving as the plants were arriving tomorrow and first thing the skips were being removed. Paul had even paid for Alex's supper, which comprised of two fish and a large chips.

The story was Alex lived with his 'great-aunt' and acted as part time carer. Mrs Drummond was now Aunty Enid. Alex was living in her downstairs extension, an area that had been used as a storeroom. The old woman, on finding out her handy man was technically homeless, had offered her junk room for a tenner a week, if he did her shopping, gardening and cleaned up after himself. Alex kept the whole house spotless now. Enid had been really poorly last year and could no longer manage the stairs. Her room and the spare room acted as bedroom and sitting room. Every morning Alex left her with a carafe of water, two thermos of tea and her lunch and breakfast waiting. She rang if she needed anything during the day and could get to the bathroom with her walker. Twice a week her friends came over for cards and on Saturday Alex took her to the local day centre; so Mrs Drummond could socialise and enjoy the music at the weekly tea dance.

Enid refused to install a stair lift and clung to her staying in her own house as her reason for living. Her 'nephew' living in allowed her independence.

As the lodger opened the door, he went straight to the kitchen to put the food in the oven and dinner plates to keep warm and filled the kettle. Then he went upstairs to see his landlady.

"Evening Enid, have you had a good day?"

The old woman was sat by the window playing patience, "Quiet. I really enjoyed the racing on Channel 4 this afternoon."

Alex smiled and put the dirty flasks, dishes and silverware on a tray to take downstairs to wash up. "Fish and chips for supper tonight in about fifteen minutes." That would give Alex enough time to wash and get clean clothes on.

"What's the occasion for such a treat?"

"Job well done today. Paul is a hard task master, I did not stop today so this is his treat. He also apologises that I was late home." Alex left out the fact he's had the mickey taken out of him for being a 'mummy's boy', who had to be in bed by eight. It was a first time in his life, he had that sense of home with no underlying powerlessness, loneliness or unhappiness. Jack, while being fun and great, had always just been there as staff and nothing deeper than sort of friends until Ian died and both their lives were on the knife edge of uncertainty because of the Bank. The ex-spy dragged himself from his dark thoughts by changing the subject to future plans. "I'll be able to repoint your garden wall next week as promised; with the added bonus that you can have cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner." Alex found he had calmed down with this oasis, two lonely people co-existing. It was so much more than mere survival. The old lady had taught the young lodger how to cook, to appreciate opera and classical music and to play bridge. Alex had taught her in turn, the importance of counting cards, memory, sheer nerve to play blackjack, poker and baccarat. The young lodger did basic maintenance and servicing of the fifteen ear old VW Polo in the garage. Very helpful for both occupants of the household, it was nice to get about as Alex used the car for jobs and shopping. The car becoming more important as Enid was not as mobile as she had been when they first met two years ago. It was coming around to winter again and Alex worried that this would be the frail old ladies last. He knew she had already paid for her funeral, organised it to the last detail, and put her estate in order. Her will accompanied by an affidavit from a psychologist proving she was of sound mind.

This was how life was meant to be, getting to a ripe old age, keeping yourself entertained, enjoying friendships old and new, and being cared for. Enid had admitted to having and expecting a hard life and priding herself on her endurance. She had always exploited her little freedoms, despite the controlling of her husband. Her daughter had been spoiled by her father and Cyril had sent the child to boarding school. It had been then Enid had lost the daughter, as the child returned to suburban London and had found it wanting. School had shown the spoiled only child the reality of her rich and upper class classmates. Her own mother was more a skivvy than a proper lady and the child let her mother know her every fault. Enid had set about improving herself, learning piano, deportment and elocution. She enjoyed her lessons, made new friends, talked to her neighbours without hiding and found her husband was less exacting and harsh. Cyril worked long hours and had never considered entertaining at home. Enid then took french cookery evening classes and watched Fanny Craddock on TV. She stopped being a doormat and her daughter had not liked the changes in her mother, who was acting above her station. Donna had grown to expect a woman who did everything for her family but had no voice.

Alex's own life had changed while living in Twickenham. Alex was now 23 and being celibate suited him. He had grown to hate his short love affairs and one night stands. Each encounter brought some level of curiosity or pure repulsion at his scars and the fact he could not explain their origin beyond he had a shit life between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. He had grown used to his body and each and every blemish from his chest, stomach, back and arms. He had once stated to one shocked lady that they were proof he was really him, not his evil twin. His real problem was that he could not commit or afford to fall in love. He had nothing to offer any woman, as he could not expect a lover to follow his lifestyle nor could he explain why he had to stay under the radar. Living with Enid had broken the cycle of short term and unfulfilling relationships, mostly with older women. He had found one night stands with women his age even more unsatisfying, as he got a glimpse of the life he could not have. He loved sex, and knew he was an attentive lover, but he wondered if he needed therapy to resolve his control issues. Love was meant to conquer all, but it was an impassible mountain when you were basically a shadow, living in the underclass below the unemployed or those on large council estates.


	6. Chapter 6

The day before Alex Rider's twenty-fourth birthday, Enid Drummond died. She had reached the ripe old age of 79, a good innings for a girl who had started life in the slums of Deptford and who had lived through the Blitz. She had never regained health and mobility after her bout of flu in 2010. Each sniffle, headache and fever had the lodger stay at home and nurse his good friend. The woman who had helped him understand the hard truth families were not necessarily good or kind, hers hadn't been. Alex had to understand there was no blame and no need to dwell on things you could not change. She was a hero in Alex's book, for being a survivor and still thinking her lot in life had been good, as she had improved herself along the way. You simply had to find happiness on your own terms. The last two years had been happy for the handyman. Small jobs had paid enough for him to accrue a nest egg. He had to decide on keeping to his path of trying to slide back into normal life. Enid had subtlety suggested he should not keep hiding in the shadows. He had to trust in himself and in his friends. For Christmas, she had handed him a bundle of used twenties with the wisdom "I can't take it with me and I know you won't hang around for the reading of my will. This is my bequest for you, to invest in your own business, or in a proper home. Start living your life, Alexander. You deserve happiness. You more than anyone that there are no rules and normal is for boring people. Wife and children ain't for everyone."

A tall and very tired tall skinny blond haired young man sat and pondered all her words of wisdom as he sat on a bench in Battersea Park. He looked disheveled and had been wearing the same clothes for two days. His at home super-comfortable clothes, consisting of almost worn out nike track suit pants, a t-shirt bought in Tesco's when he was 17 and a dark blue University of London sweatshirt that he had acquired from the 'Lost Box' at the Dragon . His two bags of belongings hastily packed as he vacated his former home this morning. He had closed his eyes and thought of the events that had changed his life again. He had been reading a copy of I, Claudius and heard the sharp sound of breaking china, when Enid's mug had hit the floor as she watched Coronation Street. He had gone upstairs to clean up to see that Enid was slumped over, her left arm loose and floppy, like the left side of her face. He had quickly sat Enid up and cleaned up the floor, in case she fell again. He then phoned for an ambulance.

The paramedics asked a million questions, while assessing their patient. They then stated they were taking her to Ealing Hospital. Alex followed in the car to the hospital, after quickly getting a few essentials together in anticipation of an overnight stay. A&amp;E was busy, but Enid was wheeled straight through to a cubicle.

Alex waited for news, but he was not 'next of kin', just her primary carer. He did not expect darling Donna to turn up. You pick your friends but not your family. All Alex had was friends, no family. Enid had been enough for him in truth and she had said he was more family to her than her own kin. Waiting was horrid, to think he had done this to Jack on numerous occasions. He felt guilty and worried. He was still just Alex, he would not need to give details for the staff here.

Just after eleven, a kind blond haired nurse came to take him through to Critical Care. "Enid's been asking for you. She's a real sweetie. She's in and out, but comfortable. Her speech is slurred but understandable. We've put on a drip and she's on oxygen."

A small, thin bony hand gripped Alex as soon as he was sat beside the trolley. "You're such a good boy, Alex."

Alex gave a firm squeeze back to reassure the very sick woman. "You're my number one girl, Aunty Enid."

"Charmer, to the end. I'm so tired." The old woman was struggling for breath.

As Enid closed her eyes and relaxed, Alex whispered "Time to say goodbye, Beautiful. Say hello to Jack and Helen for me on the other side."

"I will." With that Enid fell asleep. Alex watched the rise and fall of her chest and listened to the beeps of the heart monitor. The nurse came in every ten minutes or so. At 2:10, Enid passed from dreams into the unknown and the machine announced her heart failure with the sharp alarm.

…

On autopilot Alex had driven back to Twickenham, packed his stuff up and then gone to do the jobs Enid had asked him to, when she passed. He alerted the Undertakers, dropping off her chosen garments to be cremated in. Mr. Morris had assured Alex that Enid would be picked up from Ealing Hospital later that morning and he would personally coordinate the funeral arrangements with Enid's executors, her neighbours David and Sian Jones. Alex then walked down the High Street to drop off the house keys at the solicitors. Enid's final wishes meant her daughter got nothing and her granddaughter only a small token. The old woman had not seen the twenty-two year old Daniella since her 12th birthday, despite the fact Enid's family were only living in Reading. A house the old lady had never been invited to.

From Twickenham into town, the train into London stopped at Clapham Junction and Alex had gotten off and walked north with no real destination in mind. At the Park he sat on a bench and tried to formulate a plan. To move forward from this point, when he was back at the bottom of the pile. As he collected himself, all he felt was the familiar devastation of grief. This time there was no mix of betrayal, guilt or mistrust. Enid had lived her life fully, been her own boss and died of a blood clot in her brain. Not from violence, not preventable and not caused by the world of liars, torturers, assassins and spies that had killed Jack. Alex's grief for Ian had been short and sharp, as he had immediately been fighting for survival and fighting to keep his home. Grief once again mixed with the bitter sense of failure.

This was a fine sunny February morning, Alex looked at the green grass and the park was well attended on this Saturday morning. Alex was hungry and thirsty but still sat and stayed wrapped up in the heavy weight of loss. He was weeping. He had only wept like this for Jack. He paid no mind to the passers by looking at him and hurrying past. In the back of his mind, he knew real men did not loose emotional control in public but it wasn't like Alex had a car or a room to hide in. He leant forward thrust his head into his hands. He needed to get real and start phoning people to find a new squat and a new job. He needed a fresh start. He knew better than to sleep on the streets, breaking into an empty building was better than the open air.

He was sat, shivering in that awful state of snotty, puffy eyes, sore throat and emotionally raw, when one of the passersby, knelt down in front of the distressed man and asked "Are you, OK?"

Alex mumbled "I'm fine" as he hastily wiped his face with his sweatshirt sleeve and noticed the kind stranger was a young clergyman who was playing good Samaritan.

"I'm on my way to visit a colleague at Our Lady and Saint Joseph. I'm sure he'd be happy to offer you a cup of tea and a biscuit, if you wish to accompany me?" The man with dark hair, unthreatening body language and glasses smiled.

"I really am fine. Just off to find Tosh, Liv and Breaker. My old mates normally hang out on Sheepcote Lane." Alex at eighteen had gotten acquainted with all the old timers, who knew all the tricks in the book about living rough and had the up on the best places to be and those to avoid.

"Ah, Livinia attends my soup kitchen at St. Mary's. I've not met Tosh and Breaker."

"I've been in lodgings for two years. They might have moved on, so to speak." Either to prison or off the mortal coil. "I won't detain you any longer, Father… errr Reverend, whatever." Alex had decided to pay a visit to Liv, another old woman who had taught him a lot about survival.


	7. Chapter 7

Sat poking a fire in the small makeshift grate, Alex felt no time had passed from the last time he'd co-habited with Liv, not that living rough was really co-habitting, just keeping each other safe and having a bit of company. Liv had been a mother to a lot of runaway teens over the years, guiding them to safety and decent hostels. Alex had been a tough nut at eighteen, a coiled spring held in check by paranoia and the ambition to survive without any interference from MI6 or anything to do with the government, councils or charities. Liv had never passed judgement on another of society's aberrations. The fifty or sixty something had been on the streets for nearly ten years and only during the coldest periods did she seek shelter herself. She just preferred living 'al fresco'. She never talked of her past and never pressed anyone else for details. Tonights dingy accommodations was a large warehouse, which had a leaky roof, broken windows and was home to several dozen pigeons and enough rats to keep Alex awake. This prime piece of south London real estate was soon to be redeveloped into more overpriced apartments.

Liv was already snoring and snorting. Her heavy smoking habit evident in her throaty laugh and harsh cackling when amused and short of breath. All the bag lady needed was a cauldron, rather than her bags of possessions, and maybe a black cat to morph into the stereotype of an old hag or wicked witch. Alex had sure run through his own nine lives and was hanging onto his last life by the slimmest of margins. He had stolen a very swanky iPhone and was presently surfing the net, reading up on Edward, Liz and Sabina Pleasure, but also Jerry Harris, who was running a successful extreme sports company based in Italy and Sicily. It was the first time he had looked back at his former life since 2005. Tom Harris had no profile in social media and had not achieved his ambition to be a premiere league footballer. Each of his classmates from Point Blanc were still rich, successful and all were to some degree or other paparazzi fodder.

Sabina was as beautiful as ever, working as a junior reporter on the Evening Standard. Alex read some of her backlog of dry witty critiques on London life. He wondered where she lived? She was probably very driven, ambitious and was proving to be as good a writer as her dad. It was armchair stalking using the web. If Alex was truthful to himself, he had left California and then normal life altogether to protect beautiful, happy and successful Sabina, the girl he had loved and lost. Sabina had already been at college when Alex up and left the house in San Francisco, which had been empty without her and Alex had no reason to endanger Liz and Edward anymore. He had been a sullen, distant shadow before being committed to mental care. He had endured that and on finding the treatment had been paid for by MI6, had had a monumental row with Edward for collaborating with the enemy. It had been the excuse Alex needed to leave.

Alex had been in denial in every sense about his former life. Not thinking about his past on any level. Loosing Enid, had been loosing another family. He did not have the strength to start afresh again, hence seeking out Liv. At St. Brendan's, he had chosen not to speak to Sabina once he had returned to London and had returned her and Liz's letters unopened. He had tons of regrets over his actions. Was it to late to say, 'I'm sorry'? He had definitely not been thinking straight then and the shrinks were not wrong calling him paranoid, but he was also sure he was still nuttier than a bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut.

Flowers were the best way of apologising, it wasn't as if he was brave enough to just turn or maybe he should actually test the water and tell the people he had left behind that he was still among the living and OK-ish.

…

Mothers day 2011 had passed a week ago and Liz looked at the picture in her office of her daughter and her lost foster son taken in Cornwall in 2001, that boy, now young man was in her thoughts. The house too quiet as Edward was in Singapore for a lecture and book signing event. The photo capturing the moment before the bombing, before the kidnapping and before the lovely boy Alex disappeared before their eyes, replaced by a silent shell.

She was meant to be outlining initial ideas for a friend's theatre production, but the designer went to make a cup of tea. Sabina had emailed not an hour ago, following another lead on a homeless man, who would most likely not be their Alex. Both Edward and Sabina had tried to find the missing man, who had eluded them, the police and any official channels. Six years had passed and the small group of Alex's friends had not lost hope, there had been a trickle of eye witness accounts of a tall, skinny London boy called Alex but with dark hair and an aversion to anything official. The trail had gone cold two years ago. Bright, sneaky and with the ability to speak several languages like a native and lie, cheat and steal, Alex could be up to anything. The chances were he had purchased forged documents and was now living and working far from London. All Liz Pleasure could hope was that he was healthy and happy.

The door bell rang and she went to a see it was a delivery of flowers.

…..

"What do you mean Alex sent you a bouquet?" Sabina Pleasure practically screamed down the phone.

"Deep pink and white roses. The card simply stated 'I'm sorry, Liz for everything. You were the closest I ever had to a mum, with a million regrets Alex.'" A sob escaped Liz, "I may be reading to much into this sudden contact, but it sounds like he's reached the end of his tether. Have you any news?"

"Rev. David Reynolds is almost positive he talked to Alex last week." Sabina was half tempted to emit the fact Alex had been an emotional wreck. The clergyman had seen confirmed a blond haired, brown eyed man who looked like the last photo Sabina had taken of her friend. "I spoke to a woman called Liv. Alex was sleeping rough in Vauxhall two nights ago. He was going to Bermondsey to pick up contacts about building work."

Two hours later, Sabina was woken at 3am by Edward calling her to discuss her news in detail. The writer corroborated Sabina's feeling that it sounded like Alex might not run if they found him, that he might accept help and may come home.


	8. Chapter 8

Alex had tracked down a series of old contacts, but times were lean and for even casual labour they required paperwork, a National Insurance Number and an address. Without a base of operations, even being an independent handy man was near impossible. Renting anywhere was out, Alex had the money but even a private landlord wanted a bank account as well as references. Backed into a corner by his paranoia would mean going back to menial tasks of cleaning or kitchen work and if he was really lucky working behind a bar.

After two weeks of disturbed and far too little sleep, Alex missed his room in the semi on Blackthorn Road. It was a nasty jolt to be back suffering the hard realities of this hard life. The characters he had met over the years had made his choice to leave normal behind at eighteen a bearable one. He thanked his lucky stars that each good deed, conversation and small kindness now meant he was not completely alone. He had to steel himself for a dismal squat, only he wanted a shared house. A nice room, to pretend he wasn't lost, alone and going to sped the rest of his life standing on the outside looking in. With a heavy heart, he sauntered up Clapham High Street to meet up with Liv and treat her to Beef Chow Mien and a bottle of sweet white wine. Alex himself would stick to water, he could not abide any type of inebriation or loss of control. The best day of his life had been weaning himself off antidepressants, sleeping tablets and tranquillisers.

Liv sat on the bench overlooking small patch of green between the blocks of flats beside the railway line. She had been silent eating. Alex had spotted one of the flats that had been recently vacated and with a quick bit of lock picking, they would both have a dry and vermin free night. As the old woman picked out the slabs of fried beef, she stopped eating. She was trying to decide wether to tell Alex her news.

"There was a lovely young girl asking questions this afternoon. Said her name was Sabina and that the Reverend at St. Mary's told her that her foster brother was in the area."

Her blond haired companion, who had been enjoying his hot meal, suddenly stopped eating and spat the remains of his mouthful back into the carton. "Shit!"

"You are older, leaner than that photo she showed me, but even I could see that girl misses her missing boy. If you're running from her, she's almost caught you." Alex looked at the carton and put it in the plastic bag and started to collect up his stuff.

The old woman smiled and spoke from her heart. "No one came looking for me. If they had I would have run and run and never looked back."

"I ran to protect Sabina. I…. I need to tell her to back off. This is me, this is how I live my life. I just need to get a place again and I'll be OK. Not brilliant, not happy but not jumping at shadows, looking over my shoulder or thinking every guy parked in a car is after me." Alex stood and picked up his rucksack. "I'm off west again."

There were no goodbyes or any promises of meetings in the future. Life was lived in the present, in the now. Tomorrow was as bleak as yesterday.

….

Sabina had finishing a piece for her website. Five hundred words on trawling through London's underbelly rather than dancing the night away at the fashionable hotspots she steered clear of. It was nearly 11AM and she was both hungry and in need of caffeine. She slipped out onto the Ongar Road and walked toward her local coffee shop, for her regular treat. Since moving back to London two years ago, the smart and self assured journalist had found all the traditional proper small Italian cafe's and made sure she never frequented any of the large franchised abominations that dominated most High Streets.

The coffee shop was crowded and it looked as if she would have to settle for take out as all the booths were occupied, when the waitress stated there was a seat to the rear, if she did not mind sharing a table.

The man sat at the table was dirty and smelly with his head and face hidden by a large worn hoodie. Sabina was about to go to the counter for take-out, when a familiar voice croaked "Good to see you, Sab. Sit down I'll treat you to a deluxe hot chocolate with flake, marshmallows and a mountain of whipped cream. You are still addicted to those million calorie drinks?"

Sabina sat down and watched as the hood hiding of the figure opposite was lowered to reveal shortish, dirty blond hair, rough beard and a tired, gaunt but familiar face of the long lost Alex Rider. She nodded stiffly to answer his question. She fought to control her emotions, as she really wanted to smack her friend across his face, but this was not a smug and arrogant teenage boy, but the hard fact of a man broken by life and barely hanging on. A million questions flitted through her head, but she had no voice. She sat and stared as her companion signalled the waitress and placed his order.

Her work experience may have restricted her to interviewing nice business people, bankers and the young and successful, but she was very familiar with the flip side to her existence in her search for Alex. She decided to be flippant, knowing that was how Alex broke the ice when stressed or unhappy. "You know I need a regular fix of sugar and chocolate, every lady does". As soon as she said it, Anita served the hot chocolate deluxe in front the newly arrived customer on Table 12 and an Americano for the gentleman who had already eaten a full breakfast and purchased three coffees.

Alex smiled at the middle aged woman, whom he knew would be listening in on this strange and tense conversation. "I'm not here to make excuses or to ruin you life by asking for money or a bed. You've been talking to Liv. I guess I've been a bit sloppy, but its been a shit month. I returned to old haunts, cause I need to touch base, before moving on again." He saw that Sabina was still a bit in shock. "You caught up with me. Good for you and maybe good for me. I'm afraid its not a happy ever after moment. Its great to see you but I'm not here to catch up or to mend any broken bridges. I'm fine, this is my life. Leave me to lick my wounds on my own."

A hard look marred Sabina's beautiful face. She found her voice "You sent flowers to mum. You scarred her. She thought you were really saying you'd had enough."

"In a way, I am at the end of my tether, but it'll get better. I'll find my feet and my version of OK. Earn enough money for decent food and a roof over my head. Simple enough really." Alex smiled and drank in the sight of a young woman with lovely long light brown hair. "I dream about you. Happy dreams of us larking about. Not often, but enough for me to miss you terribly. So, I left, but so had you. I hated California. I hated St. Brendan's. I never hated you, Liz or Edward. In fact, I had a breakdown because I so wanted to be like you, to be a proper son, but I couldn't relax, couldn't fit in, could not give an inch, not after Cairo. I still live by the decisions I made then. I was not going to be a puppet and if it took being a complete nobody to do it, it was an OK price to pay in my opinion. Your mum and dad did not deserve to be saddled with me and you had proved you had your own life and priorities. I grew a backbone and here we are now. So , back off Sab. Stop chasing me. I'm not coming back. I'm not going to play happy families ever. I do have friends, but people like me, broken."

"You are not going to walk out of my life again. You can't make my decisions for me!" Sabina hissed in righteous anger.

"You post your blogs, talk to Edward and gossip to your group of friends and now the Bank knows about Liv and can track me down. Those bastards listen into everyones phone calls, read everyones emails and I'm an asset who walked away and they will still want to bring me in. If I stay, those bastards will come calling, or is that guy from Special Branch parked down your street watching out for your terrorist neighbours. Not noticed that fat bastard, have you, Sab. I checked him out this morning. That is why I'm walking away from you again. Live your life for you, Sabina. Date, party and forget about that sad fucker Alex Rider. Goodbye, good luck and give my love to everyone, but its better this way. I'm going to have a tinkle now."

Sabina had seen the van and not paid it any notice. She wanted Alex to be part of her life but the reality was he was leaving, as she watched as the hood got pulled back up and Alex dropped a twenty pound note on the table and walked out. not through the front door but around the back and through the kitchen.


	9. Chapter 9

Alex had seen the posts on Sabina's website regarding their belief meeting. So everyone now had confirmation that Alex was alive, but still suffering from untreated paranoid depression. He thought 'thanks for that assessment, Sab'. Reading the one sided conversation, Alex had been laying down the law. His life had settled back into a different but comfortable routine. He was sat surfing the net in the relative comfort of Tooting Library having booked his two hour slot on the public access computers. The ex-spy lived by the adage paranoia was justified if you had supposed friends out to get you. He was not dancing to anyones tune but his own. In the long run the bank had done the most damage, backing Alex against a wall and playing right into Scorpia's hands. His training from Ian, MI6 and Scorpia stated because the Bank was looking for a homeless ex-handyman, he had to reinvent himself just enough to stay in the shadows. Of course they would expect him to do just that; so, he was not going to change his modus operandi, too much.

He wondered just how many of his ex-lovers Sabina had talked to and just how much of his life on the streets she knew about. From her friends list, it included several of his past employers and three girlfriends who had posted good luck, best wishes, get well and 'contact us if you need anything Alex'. He then started looking at the rooms to let on the various university and college notice boards. He could fake it as an unemployed college drop out, reading modern languages and looking for a decent job and digs after a family row. Small white lies with enough truth to get a foothold into a temporary version of normal life that students frequented.

Two days ago, the blond haired man had gotten a shave and a decent haircut, paid for a shower and changed into semi smart shirt, jeans, boots and jacket within 2 hours of leaving Sabina. He had also binned all the clothing he had been wearing that day. He had checked into a b&amp;b using a stolen driving licence as ID, helped by the fact the manager was the type just to go through the motions of checking in. He felt much better with the goal of taking his life in a new tangent. He might even try and settle down, it was possible if he kept everything in his partner's name. Meeting Sabina again had also been a bucket of cold water on his unresolved feelings for her. She was in the past and he had been a fool to think of her as anything other than a friend. He had never been in the running for any more than that.

He had spent two evenings reviewing his supposed 'love' life and could honestly say he was in denial over a lot of things. He had stamped down on his confusion over Yassen, by latching onto Sabina. She was easy to love as a nice, kind, beautiful member of the right sex. He had blinded himself to the fact he had thought the Russian Assassin had been fit and very beautiful as well. He had used his hate to bury his attraction to dangerous and deadly Yassen. He had been friends with a few escorts and rent boys but had, quite wisely, steered clear of that avenue of work. He had also been very careful with his handful of sexual partners, most had reminded him of Jack, so he could add an Oedipal complex on to his list of mental health problems. He was thankful that if Yassen was his type he was highly unlikely to find his equal in west London It had been a revelation when his uncle's murderer had stated he loved Alex, as the man had lain dying on Air Force One. It all seemed to point to the fact Alex needed a serious about of head shrinking. It was easier just to remain celibate and not enter into the minefield of interpersonal relationships.

….

A rented room was sorted by Monday, two student nurses needed to sub-let the third room in their flat, as the original flatmate had left them in the lurch by dropping out and doing home. The two could not cover the shortfall in the monthly expenses and Alex paid three months rent in advance and everything worked out. He had a room next year as well. The pair were working through the summer. The room was in a flat in the rougher end of Tooting. As Alex returned with his newly bought bedding, it turned out Alex knew the landlord, so along with a roof over his head the odd-jobber was going a bit of work for Mr. Shah in his spare time. Life was looking up. The students were busy and easy going. Alex kept to his room and timetabled his use of kitchen and bathroom around the others lectures and work schedules.

On Wednesday morning, his flatmate Christian had approved Alex's outfit for his interview. The clothes were just a bit casual, so it did not appear that this would be barman, really really really needed the job.

….

At first glance, the Dog and Duck looked like any other well kept freehouse Alex had worked in. The advert stated the owner required a barman to work full time on weekends, 5PM to 12AM on Fridays, 11AM-12AM Saturday and 11:AM to 11PM on Sundays. The hourly rat offered was well above the normal rate and the owner/manager stated he was more than happy when Alex had stated on the phone he preferred cash in hand. The place was immaculate from the outside. Nice beer garden, clean windows, hanging baskets with a variety of flowering bulbs outside and the paintwork looked like it had just been done. It looked up-market. Neil, the owner was Australian by birth and was having a problem keeping staff.

"So, Alex. You have great references. I have to warn you three of our bar staff have been attacked after work. Two were seriously injured, the police think its gang related, but we think its an attempt to get us to move on. We have had a problem with graffiti in the past but that stopped when we installed cameras."

"So, which Streatham crew is attempting to freeze you out?" Alex had a basic knowledge of the drug dealing, gangs and their territories. It sounded like a dispute had escalated into open warfare for such a violent attacks on the barmen working in the gay pub with no direct link to the local estates, gangs or criminal underworld.

"We did sack a guy eight months ago, almost called the police in. We caught him dealing. We do not want that sort of reputation." Neil spoke in the plural as he owned the pub with his partner, Craig. "This is our home and we would sack any member of staff who sold or was caught using at work."

"I guess this guy grassed you out to his dealer. Sounds like you've been blamed for your ex-employee loosing money or ditching his supply. Or they might be putting the frighteners on your bar staff to start supplying here. I can look after myself and I can run really fast. I hate pushers and their ilk, since a friend of mine at school got hooked and they ruined his life. It also helps I walk home towards Tooting not Streatham nor do need to head for the Tube." Alex, if he got the job, would get a bike.

It was that strange calm as Alex settled back into normal life. He had a steady job, earning enough to cover his living expenses. Maybe he could relax a bit and make some friends.

…..

Edward knew Alex had asked Sabina to back off, leave him to his chosen life. Alex had spent the last two years in one place, subletting a room in a private house, working and possibly being as happy as the ex-spy could be considering the psychological damage his foster son had suffered. He could rationalise that Alex had cut himself off as an act of survival, his foster son was still running and hiding and there were signs that his control was faltering, someone had gotten under Alex's skin. The description of Alex from the Vicar and now Sabina was a man brought low by a big personal upheaval, possibly grief. The journalist thought the ex-teen spy was still too fragile for any personal betrayal. If Alex could love and accept being loved, there was a chance he could heal.


	10. Chapter 10

The bar was open plan and Alex observed that there were about ten customers in on Sunday evening. The lunch crowd had been busy as usual as Craig served an excellent menu, which enticed in the family crowd. These were the diehard drinkers, mostly older single gentlemen not interested with the hustle and bustle of students on the pull which filled the place on Fridays and Saturdays. The place popular with groups of girls as well as the usual Friends of Dorothy. Alex had a thick skin and was used to lewd comments and truly awful pick-up lines. As a fresh face, he had been propositioned about fifty times on the last two shifts.

A forty year old man with grey hair an startling blue eyes came in and ordered a pint of Guinness. No comment was made on Alex being new, but the guy watched him pass his initiation as a barman of being able to pull a decent pint, with the required slow pull, wait and top up needed for a good head on the dark stout.

"We have met before?" the guy asked smiling. " Do you model? I honestly can't place you, but I'm sure I've photographed you."

Alex remembered meeting the professional photographer, who had been recording the lost, the lonely and the desperate hanging around Soho in 2005. At that point, the eighteen year old runaway had been hanging with Callum, another teenager, but one who was happy to use his body to get by. Alex had been picking pockets and Callum had been his drop man. Happy days with the two of them splitting the loot. Callum had started as an escort earning enough for a flat and to pay for college and Alex had moved on to his job as tea boy and labourer. "Old Compton Street, late April 2005, a Friday night. You asked me if I needed a place to stay. I called you an old perv and to fuck off. I'd just had about enough of randy guys trying to pick me up. Then again, I was a thief not a rent boy. Callum started working as an escort after getting in with Costa's agency."

The silver haired man cast his mind back to his favourite past time of art photography rather than paid work. He had recorded the underclass in London for nearly 25 years. "Teenage runaway then? I guess you never worked for Costa Theopolis then"

Alex had gone with Callum to his audition, but you had to be as beautiful as a model to work selling your body and a scarred and paranoid ex-spy was not employable. "Not his type. I got a job on a building site and have been getting by, still for cash in hand work. "

"You could model and I'm surprised he turned you down." As an occasional portrait and fashion photographer, Simon Carrington knew exactly who Costa was; a larger than life rich successful owner of two clubs in Soho, three escort agencies and a model agency. The new barman was tall, lithe and a natural blond. He would have signed him for modelling work. The kid would have been skinner at 18, right in the the heroin chic look.

The photographer sat and watched people. His gaze was drawn to the new barman. Typical as for once, he was not looking for a date or for future work. Now, he was intrigued by this ex-street kid. As his third pint was being pulled, the single patron sat at the bar asked "Would you join me for dinner sometime?"

The barman smiled and shook his head amused. "That is my first actual request for a proper date." Alex sadly thought of not just this weekend but nearly three years. He decided to lighten his mood with some humour, "So far this weekend I've had fifty-seven offers of a come back to my place for good time or get your coat you've pulled."

"Name the day and time, we can meet somewhere neutral and go to eat wherever you fancy. Indian, Thai, Chinese...even a greasy spoon or burger place. I am not fussy."

"I have to rain check, ask me again next week, if your here. I have a busy schedule this week." He had already agreed to work three days for his landlord, to clean gutters and some basic maintenance. All guaranteed to be dirty a, heavy work. He was also a bit skint after paying rent. His nest egg was his emergency fund, one he would not touch. This week he would be eating instant noodles and large amounts of cereal. All cheap and filling. Dinner out would be wonderful, but Alex expected he had to at least be able to pay his way.

The offer of dinner had Alex thinking of this handsome older man, who wanted to get to know him, not just fuck. He wondered on this as he had cycled home as he had no recollection of which route he had used, when he was normally fastidiously careful about never using the same way twice in a row. He had memorised the map and all the possible variations north and south, by main roads, cycle paths, side roads and through parks. He wanted to read up on his would be suitor. Then he it hit him like a sledgehammer, he had no aversion to dating a man, in fact he had liked the attention. The last man he'd been attracted to had been the devil himself, the man who had loved him and died for him, Yassen Gregorovich. God, Cossack had been beautiful and Alex had long since stopped hating him and was no longer conflicted. It had been his first adult relationship. At fourteen he had stopped being a child and missed all the teenage fumbling, crushes, dating and heartbreak. Mr. Photographer was the chance of him actually doing a relationship properly.

At nearly midnight, Alex expected his flatmates to be tucked up in bed. He had locked up his bike and made his way into the kitchen for a cup of tea, he heard Christian and Lee were busy dealing with the zombie infestation via their games console. Alex remembered hours of gaming marathons with Tom and James, when Ian was working and could disapproved of such a waste of time. After everything, the ex-spy could not think of anything worse than pretending to go on a mass killing spree.

Alex stood watching the mayhem from the door sipping his tea.

"Hey, Al, good day at work?" asked Chris without breaking concentration on the vile hoard shuffling towards him and falling in a hail of bullets.

"Lunch was manic. Got asked out on a date."

"Nice chap?" Lee asked.

"A strikingly handsome older chap. Well dressed and very polite. I rain checked as I'm flat broke and the only place I could afford to go halves on this week is McDonalds. Not the type of place Mr. Artistic Photographer frequents, though he might to photograph the low lifes that hang out there."

Christian then turned around, "I take its a quite famous photographer who has asked you out."

"Yeah, well, must be as I've heard of him." Alex wondered if the man had photographed him all those years ago, maybe even caught on film lifting a few wallets.

"Come off it, Alex. Spill! Tell us who wants to wine and dine you?" Christian could not think of any that lived locally.

"Carrington, thats his name. I bet he doesn't come back in the Dog and Duck. He was living with that violinist wasn't he." Alex had nearly finished his cuppa and was completely shagged after three long shifts.

"That was about ten years ago, Alex" scoffed Lee.

"What can I say, I've had a bit of a lost weekend that's lasted ten years. I have no idea about Chelsea and I used to be a season ticket holder. Last film I saw in the cinema was the first Lord of the Rings movies. I'm off to bed. I have to be on the other side of Tooting for nine."


	11. Chapter 11

Christian had just arrived home after his third night shift in a row. It was just after midday and he hoped there was something edible in the fridge. He planned on having a nap that afternoon, before catching up on his college work. He knew it was best to get straight back into a normal sleeping rhythm or he'd be absolutely shattered by Monday. It did not help that everyone at home had a different shift pattern this week.

The student nurse was yawning as he entered the flat. Then the smell of wonderful home cooked food hit his nose. Alex was cooking his brunch before going to work. "What are you cooking? It smells wonderful."

"Ekoori, spiced scrambled egg flavoured with ginger, cumin and chilli and garnished with fresh coriander. There 's plenty to go round." Alex knew that any acts of thoughtfulness would endear him to his two flat mates. The food was cheap and filling. He had missed home cooked food. This was one of his staples from Madhur Jaffrey classic Indian Cookery book.

The tired student wolfed down the unexpected hot and very satisfying meal. "You are a brilliant cook. You have been holding back on us. I thought you had no culinary skills considering you've been eating just add water noodles or cereal since you moved in."

Alex had savoured every bite. He had finished work late yesterday and with a lovely wad of cash had bought groceries. The pub were paying him at the end of the month, so the work and ready cash from Mr. Shah were a godsend. Alex at 8 this morning had gone shopping for staples. Breakfasts and variations were essential as he normally only ate two meals a day and the hours he worked meant it was breakfast and a late supper for the next two days. "I got some dosh from Mr. Shah, I bloody earned it as well. Clearing out the drains from his place in Wandsworth. Rats and shit galore!"

"Rather you than me on that score." muttered Chris, who could not think of anything worse than wading through raw sewerage.

"Says the nurse who deals with piss, blood shit, and every other type of bodily fluid on a daily basis." Alex was well aware that nursing was hard work. "Get to bed, you look knackered. I'll clean up. See you tomorrow, I doubt you'll be up when I get back at 1."

…

Alex could not believe it as he was propositioned more than the previous weekend. Finally it was Sunday night and the handful of regulars had turned into three dozen. It kept Alex as the only one on the bar on his toes. His would be suitor did not show. So much for going on a date. The part-time barman had a list of other things to spend his money on. He was in dire need of clothes as he could not keep turning up in the same trousers and two shirts. He knew he had landed on his feet as the flat had a washer/dryer. The shirt worn on Friday was washed and fresh for Sunday. He would trawl the charity shops first, he was sure to find some designer label cast off for under a tenner.

…

May promised full shifts worked in the Bank Holidays. His shopping trip had resulted in some excellent finds. He had gone to a Car Boot Sale in Clapham, to find a whole wardrobe of fantastic clothes. Put on sale by a woman whose boyfriend had been unfaithful and Katie had decided to exact her revenge on the said cad, by selling his wardrobe of clothes for knock down prices. For fifty quid Alex had bought two suits, five shirts and two pairs of jeans. Now, he could dress like a model.

…

Si Carrington walked into the Dog and Duck and wondered if he had missed his chance with the beautiful barman. Alex was dressed up to the nines, wearing a £400 shirt from the Tom Ford ready to wear collection. Had the young man found a rich boyfriend in the two weeks he's been abroad? He cursed the fact that he had taken the last minute agency job.

Alex had spotted the handsome photographer and started to pull a pint of Guinness in anticipation of his order. Neil had told him that Si was a regular, predating the transformation from tired traditional local to up market place to be seen in. This particular customer always had three to four pints of Guinness and very occasionally a chaser of Irish Whiskey. Alex noted the sun kissed healthy glow on the photographer's face "Evening handsome. Been somewhere nice?"

"Antigua, Vogue shoot, then New York. I was covering a friend's work commitments. He had a health scare."

"Sorry to hear that, I hope he's OK?"

"Yeah, Gabriel will need to exercise more and eat sensibly. Had a minor heart attack. He's decided to cut out international travel and concentrate on more important things; like his wife and their three kids under ten. In the short term, I've agreed to do what he can't."

"Burning the candle at both ends then?"

"No, I just cut out commercial work a few years ago. I prefer my own projects and freelance work for commercial customers. Fashion and magazine work is not really my cup of tea. Far too narrow a perspective. A break has made going back a refreshing change. All the girls were a delight to work with, not one prima donna."

"Sunshine, wonderful beaches. Working with beautiful girls. All with five star accommodations. Sounds fantastic, wish I'd been there."

"Chasing girls?"

"Been there, tried that. I guess you did too. I don't have a preference on biology, just the person. I have loved both sexes. Not that I'm an expert on dating and relationships as I've been celibate for three years."

Of all the things for this perfect male barman had to admit, the photographer had never expected abstention for a young virile male. He could have expected bi-sexuality and a preference for the fairer sex, as Alex was not on the scene here or in the clubs. Si would have noted him before if he had been. In fact, that brief meeting in Soho had been their only encounter. The Escort Callum was a different matter, a regular in the right sort of eateries and nightspots in the capital. Si then decided to have a dig and enquire about the new clothes "Nice threads, been treating yourself?"

Alex laughed. "You should have been at the Battersea Car Boot Sale last Sunday. I went early and got a wardrobe full of the latest Tom Ford collection for fifty quid. A lovely young lady was selling off all the stuff her ex had left at her flat. I got there for 7 and she asked for a quote. I went super low and she just let me have everything, no haggling. She just wanted rid of the crap and fifty quid would buy her enough Prosecco and ice cream to soothe her broken heart." It helped that Alex had been out for a run and the young lady had gotten the time of the boot sale wrong, it started at 11 not 7. With no competition Alex had bagged the job lot.

"You lucky bastard. A whole wardrobe?"

"Two suits, five shirts and a pair of jeans. All my size as well. Fit lady, I would not have cheated on her." Alex had chatted long enough last Sunday to surmise the ex-boyfriend had been a complete tosser and Katie had been beer off without him.

That said that the young man valued fidelity. Si had and as a result had nursed a broken heart for far too long. All water under the bridge now. The customer enjoyed his drink as Alex worked. For a Sunday evening, this place was full. Busier than it had been for several years.

As Alex rang 'Last Orders', Si ordered "A double Bushmills and asked a night cap for yourself".

"Don't drink alcohol. I'll wait for my three cups of tea when I get back to my digs."

The slip about digs meant Alex was either a student himself or living with students. "Are you a mature student?"

"No, University of Life was enough for me. I hated school. I'm saving up to start my own business and be my on boss."

"As?"

"Work doing up vacant property. I've done labouring for Mr. Patel and worked on and off as a handyman for several years. I'll never have enough capital to go to the auctions and buy for cash. The people that do need to subcontract out for the improvements. They make a packet and get a nice regular income from the refurbished houses and flats." Even shitholes London fetched over 100 grand, needing as much cash to do them up. The only way he'd ever get enough money to be an property entrepreneur was to start robbing banks or sell serious amounts of dope. Neither was going to happen. He would get by just working hard for the independent businessman who did not care for bits of paper, only ability and availability to work.

The dutch courage of the neat alcohole, Si asked "And our date?"

"I'd love to meet for dinner. So neutral ground, can I suggest your studio after work."

Si pulled out his business card. "Wednesday, six or six-thirty. Can't be too late on a work night."


	12. Chapter 12

Alex stood outside the plain and ugly squat brick building that housed Si Carrington's studio. It had a decent security system and the front door had a video feed and an intercom. After a moment making sure his clothes were straight and wiping his hands to get rid of the sheen of nervous sweat, the guest pressed the buzzer. A strange tinny voice stated "come on in" as the door unlocked.

The place was still a hive of activity; after brief introductions and greetings; Carlos, Si's assistant went back to packing away lighting equipment and the photographer was still busy selecting shots on his mac desktop. Alex hung back, observing the details of this well organised workspace.

"Meant to be finished by four, but as usual the stylist was late, everybody only left about ten minutes ago." Si then closed down his programs and switched off his computer. "it's neat enough Carlos. See you in the morning. " The photographer stood and stretched. "What a day! Thank god for Carlos. So what's the plan this evening?"

"Into Tooting, there's a great cafe, off the High Street. It's a real find. Looks an absolute dump but the food is magnificent, if you like Pashtun grub."

"Pashtun?"

"Northern Pakistan and Afghanistan. I first tried it when I was 14, not as hot as Indian, subtle flavours and great bread. The Family that run it are fab as well. I washed dishes there for a while. They thought it was so funny having a white boy clean up. I picked up the language pretty quick. I could already speak a bit, but I'm still no where near fluent." Alex smiled, "the place is dry, as in no booze, not even bring your own; but if you can play backgammon you can gamble all you want."

The tall blond had no idea how first dates were meant to go, but it was pleasant food washed down with salty-sour yogurt. They had talked of work, living in London and sport. Steering clear of troublesome topics like politics, family and religion.

As they walked north towards Si's home in Wandsworth, the older man asked "are you Muslim?"

"No, not anything really. I thought my uncle was an atheist, but he must have been C of E as a vicar did his funeral. I went to church with a couple of housekeepers when I was small and occasionally the local vicar turned up at Brookland Comprehensive, but that's about the sum total of my religious experience." Alex scratched his head about where the query over faith has come from? "I don't drink cause I hate being not fully in control of my actions. I've had a bit of a problem with self medicating at sixteen. Mixing painkillers, sleeping tablets and alcohol to get numb. Along with the tranquillisers and antidepressants meant I was pretty out of it; hiding the fact I was anything but well. My foster parents had me locked up in a psych unit when they twigged I was not coping. That sucked big time, so I've kept myself clean since then, as I do not want a repeat visit to that sort of place ever again."

Simon processed that confession and added his own. "Haven't been committed myself, but I saw a shrink for a while after leaving the army." After school he had gone to Sandhurst and left after seeing action in Northern Ireland and the Falklands. He had struggled with nightmares and flashbacks, but talking hd helped him immensely.

Alex stopped for a moment and decided to tell the truth to Si. "My dad served in 2 Para, got a medal. That piece of scrap and my parent's wedding photo is all I have as a legacy from my biological parents." Loss, pain, betrayal and the whole Scorpia legacy. Alex suddenly felt old and tired, "I'll slop off as I need to get back, I have work in the morning."

"How about I pick our next date. Thursday evening OK. Meet at the Dog and Duck at seven?" Everythung had cooled off very fast, he had been hoping to invite Alex back for a coffee, but it was a first date, not a pick up. He got the impression Alex did not do casual sex.

"Sounds like a plan, see you then. Night, Si." Alex waved but did not offer a hug or hand shake.

…

Lee was sat in the small dining/sitting room watching one of his many zombie DVDs, when Alex arrived back from Wandsworth. The scruffy punk asked his flat mate "How was your date?"

"Cool, Si's a real gentleman. We enjoyed our meal and went for a walk." Alex has been glad there had been no awkward hugs or attempts at a kiss. He turned around and went to bed. Suddenly very tired and uncertain if dating was a good thing. "Going out again on Thursday. Si's arranging it this time." Alex had been sneaky picking to eat at the Karachi Cafe. It did serve excellent food, but had no frills with its basic Formica tables, plastic chairs and mostly immigrant clientele. The location of the date designed to put off all except the most serious or adventurous. From the photographers cheery acceptance of the place, he was likely to return and tell all his friends about such a great find.

On their next date, Alex's lack of any sexual experience with men was bound to come up. Sure he had been touched up and humiliated by both Nile and Julius, but that had taken place during strip searches. That assault entailed penetration as fingers checked his anal cavity for any hidden contraband, but had gone no further than lewd comments on his fine tight arse begging to be fucked. Yassen had never suggested sex, just confessed to love a boy that hated the assassin. Alex had used hatred to bury his unwanted attraction to the wrong gender. He was slowly accepting he swung both ways and had been attracted to Sabina and loved his time with Bea. If only his first lover had been ten years younger they might have made a go of cohabiting. None of his girlfriends since had been as comparable to Mrs. Mackenzie. A woman who had understood hate, betrayal, revenge and depression. He had heard through the grapevine she had remarried, an older widower and moved to sunny southern Spain.

The blond barman had to see of Si was a serious prospect, only then would he broach the subject of his own tarnished past and problems with all in authority or government control. He paid no tax or NI, had no work record except his references, and was still officially homeless as he had no contract for the flat nor did he want to leave a paper trail. His passport was still valid, until next July. It had been a brand new adult passport issued after his return from Egypt. His driving licence still stated his address as St. Brendan's, his last official home.

As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Alex squashed the emerging hopes and dreams of a real love affair. He had scared off a few women when revealing his scarred body, the damage was revolting their eyes. Would Si be any different when confronted with burns, bullet entry and exit wounds, knife and surgery scars? That was the million dollar question. Alex would find out on Thursday if he was remaining celibate or if he and Si were going to be a couple. He was under the impression the older man wanted more than sex, something serious and long term.


	13. Chapter 13

!WARNING! MALE/MALE SEXUAL SITUATIONS DISCUSSED - DON'T LIKE DON'T READ

Alex was early, arriving at the Dog and Duck at twenty to seven. It felt strange being a customer rather than barman, as he parked himself at the bar and smiled at Neil, "Evening boss, can I have a coke?"

"Good to see you, Alex. Could not wait a full five days between visits?" The landlord was digging for gossip, the rumour was the confirmed bachelor Simon Carrington had asked their new employee out on a date. Neil knew Alex had turned everyone else down.

"Si's meeting me here at seven."

"First date?"

"No we went out for a meal on Tuesday, it was really good, I like the fact Si's giving me space, no pressure, just getting to know each other." Alex sipped his drink and watched his boss deal with the early crowd.

Neil had seen Si, pick a series of one night stands at the pub on a Friday and Saturday night and it had been many years since the very public break up between the Celebrated Portrait Photographer and his ex, the infamous virtuoso violinist Serge Monterey.

Watching a clock slowly approach, hit and then pass the hour mark was not a favourite pastime of Alex Rider's. He was fastidiously early, always checking out his destinations ahead and making sure there were no hidden surprises. Now, he had to get used to Si's always late modus operandi. He had drunk the last of the coke by 19:09. The door of the bar opened, all arrivals watching by the anxious blond sat observing the reflections in the antique mirror behind the bar, advertising Johnnie Walker Whiskey.

Si noted the empty glass and smiled sheepishly, "Sorry I'm late. Come on Taxi's waiting."

….

The art gallery was in a large industrial space. Black and white prints portraying thirty years of war in Afghanistan. "I love John Darren's work. He's been a war photographer for nearly forty years. This just seemed to resonate with your Pashtun cafe run by refugees from Soviet occupation."

Alex stood and stared at the photo of a teenager, suddenly thinking of his own transformation into a frightened refugee in a hotel in Bangkok with his Godfather. The dirty smiling Afghan boy had missing, stained and crooked teeth. The images were a mix of domesticity and family life in tents and slums, soldiers, blood, pain, death and destruction. "Its frightening, how an image capturing a single millisecond of time can be so powerful. These are not doctored, they're just as he took them?"

"Yes, all these works of art were shot on proper film, developed and printed by Darren. The man writes essays on the loss of the art form from using digital cameras. I still use traditional film occasionally, but computers are wonderful tools."

"I did not think I was easy to read, but I like refugees, they are great to work for and with. I empathise with the loss of everything and having to adapt to a strange new world. I might have been born and brought up in London, but I am an outsider."

"In what way?"

"I chose to live outside of normal society. I've lived on the streets, in squats and subletting rooms since I was eighteen. No official address, no paper trail, I walked away from everyone and everything. I prefer to be my own man, even if its a hard and lonely life." Alex was trying to understand misery as art. "This is all a bit voyeuristic, not something I would come and see." Not adding the reality of his life where it had been bad enough to have lived the real thing. "I need a coffee, my or yours. I have stuff to discuss."

Si knew his beau lived with two nurses and they would have no privacy, nor the chance of a glass of wine as Alex was teetotal. "Mine, I think. I have an excellent choice of coffees, teas, wine and sprits."

"Your place it is."

…

Alex took in the three storey Edwardian villa on the tree lined avenue. He was shown into a modern kitchen with large glass doors onto the low maintenance garden. It was almost like Cheyne Walk. As coffee was served, Alex knew he had to start with the hard truths about himself.

"I like you. I like dating you. I want to know if you like me." Alex knew he would have to do a show and tell and was begging himself on to the big reveal and the statement that he was a scarred freak.

"I really like you too, Alex. I will take this as slowly as you need. I take it I'm your first boyfriend."

Si had hit the nail on the head. "I think the word is consensual. You know I had a few years getting my head shrunk. My life for eighteen months after my fourteenth birthday was shit. I was sexually assaulted twice… different creeps… powerless, afraid and humiliated. Not helped by the fact a guy I knew before that happened died, taking the fall for me, he said he loved me with his last breath. I was clueless at fourteen. Grief, PTSD, depression meant I was still a virgin at 18, in denial with every fibre of my being about Yassen. Right, so I'm afraid of intimacy. All my sexual encounters have been with women, mostly a lot older than me. Safe, not Nile, not Julius, and not Yassen." Alex exhaled. "Now for show and tell."

The photographer had expected a trauma in Alex's past. Getting over a bad sexual experience, while still technically a child would account for Alex's need for trust first. The sight of the blond stripping off his clothes was not one the older man expected.

The reason for the younger man's deep uncertainty an fear of rejection were deep and disfiguring scars. A long thin welt on the sternum, a large scar above the heart, thin mess of fine lines on stomach and lower inner arms and the mess of buckled flesh and skin grafts on his back. How was he going to respond to this broken man in front of him? That was simple. Simon stood up ad moved slowly forward, reaching forward to tilt Alex;s head up to see the storm of self hatred in those deep brown eyes. A soft kiss of the forehead, his arms reaching around to envelope this beautiful, hurt young man in a hug. No words spoken, just affirmation of trust and reassurance.

The warmth and strangeness of hugging a man and Alex Rider's world changed. He could dare to love, hope and live. He had taken that small step into the unknown and the man he had chosen to unburden himself on was willing to be patient and let this relationship develop. Alex then took the next step and kissed this would be lover. Soft tentative and nervous, Alex was also aware he was hard and his erection was pressing into the corresponding hardness of his companion.

"Your blushing, beautiful. I won't do anything if you want. I have to confess I would love to suck you off."

Alex smiled and did not back away. "I love blow jobs. I… I'm not a complete newly to this. Callum gave a blow job masterclass, using a banana. It was obscenely hilarious. How do we go about mutual orgasms? You or me first or at the same time?"


	14. Chapter 14

Coming out was not the life changing experience for Alex that he had assumed it would be. At fourteen, when he decided to deny ever being attracted to Yassen Gregorovich, mainly through the threat of peer pressure as being gay had been akin to complete social death at Brookland School. It was one of those insults hurled at outsiders or those perceived to be weak or an easy target. Alex assumed he had been one hundred percent successful at hiding that fact about himself as everyone knew about Sabina, his hot and unattainable, friend who was never quite a 'girlfriend'. He'd been called all the names under the sun but not the usual queer, bent or gay boy. If he had come out would MI6 dropped him like a stone or used him as a Raven to get Yassen or some other high profile target? His flatmates and those at work already assumed he was gay or bi as he chose to work as a barman at a gay pub. So, confessing that he was serious about Si, passed with congratulations or he better be good to you. It wasn't as if he had problems flirting with people, at work; both men, women or the few you weren't sure of, were all fair game in the play of words and coy body language. If you were flirty you sold more drinks, ensuring you kept your job.

So, precisely who should he come out to? Friends he no longer talked to and hadn't since he was a teenager. He was just not that close to most he had gotten along with since he walked away from St. Brendan's. Family, well that was just himself. He then though guiltily about Edward, Liz and Sabina. They had tried so hard to be family to a young man too broken to accept anything from fear and self loathing. He was in the cellar of the pub, changing a barrel and was overwhelmed with the awful what might have beens. He made the right choice, the Pleasures were all living and breathing and he was out of the game. Better here and now than what happened to Jack and Tom. Tom forced to live with his brother until returning to Britain and joining the Army of all things. It was nearly nine years since Cairo, ancient history. Si was no pawn in anyone's game, but a man that was very astute and had always thought Alex had a shit life at some point, a survivor who had moved on. Only had he? Was he truly willing to bet MI6 would leave him alone if he came out of the shadows?

….

Harder than coming out of his closet was the fact he had to tell Si the truth about himself. Casually dropping into a conversation, oh by the way I was blackmailed into doing black ops by MI6, the CIA and ASIS and for a short while I went freelance. The lies were second nature to him, starting with the fact Ian had not technically died in a car crash. That lead to other discomforting facts, yes Yassen did kill Ian but it wasn't personal. Alex had been a sexually confused teenager at the time. Would he ever gave resolved anything with that Russian if he had not died? No, Alex had hated his uncle's murderer, his uncle and himself in equal portions by the summer of 2001.

It was Monday evening, Alex had let himself into Si's beautiful home with a bag full of groceries, to surprise his boyfriend with proper Italian pasta in a simple mushroom, lemon and garlic sauce with homemade bread and green salad. He had even bought a bottle of Frascati to accompany this classic supper. He had the keys to his boyfriend's house and work place. This was slowly becoming home. He stopped chopping the veg and had half an hour before the bread went into the oven after proofing. In his pocket was a flash drive containing all the official files Alex had copied off Edward Pleasure's computer and the password protected journal of a long dead assassin. His foster father had been very thorough. He had obtained the CIA personnel file and medical file for Agent Rider, the Scorpia files including the damning Psyche profile, translations of files from the FSA regarding the Sarov Incident. Edward also had Bulman's notes and detailed notes regarding Desmond McCain, Damian Cray, Point Blanc Academy and Cairo. Plenty of reading material for Simon.

The Photographer arrived home to the house smelling of baking bread. He went into the kitchen to see Alex busy preparing supper. The fifty year old was an expert at reading body language and immediately noticed the tension in his love's posture and the odd flat blank mask on his face, betraying no emotions. Alex's eyes were another matter, deep brown and expressing nervousness when he thought Si wasn't looking. The other worrying detail was the fact the cook was drinking wine.

The meal passed with Si providing one sided conversation until after his second glass of passable Italian table wine. "What's the problem, Love?"

"The first person I told about the abuse happening to me did not believe me. It was pretty unbelievable the awfulness of my life at 14. It took Damian Cray kidnapping us both for Sabina to twig I was telling the truth. I told her because she had not known normal Alex, only fucked up abused Alex." The glass of white wine in front of the younger blond was still two thirds full, he then drained it in one gulp and filled it up again. "So to start at the beginning, my father was Captain John Rider, MC one of the heroes of Goose Green. Dishonourably discharged in 1984 after being put on remand for murder. He spent five months in Wandsworth before his acquittal. He had been in reality been part of the SAS for several years and seconded to MI6 special operations. His fall from hero to zero got him in with Scorpia, who were a freelance espionage agency supplying secrets, weapons, money laundering, courier services and assassination for anyone with enough money to hire them. So, he was a deep cover double agent with them until early 1987. John defied his orders and had kept up his relationship with his wife. She got pregnant and after I was born John wanted out. His extraction from Scorpia was a complete fuck up. In May 1987 both of my parents died when the plane they were travelling in exploded. I was in hospital at the time with a serious ear infection, so Ian became my guardian. My uncle also worked for MI6 Special Operations. His luck ran out in March 2001, he was spying on Herod Sayle and died from gunshot wounds to the head, causing his car to crash. So I'm technically not lying when I state he died in a car crash, though he was dead before his Porshe crashed. Ian left my guardianship to his bosses, that's when my life proceeded to go down the plug hole. I got myself into trouble, because they told me Ian died because he wasn't wearing a seat belt. My uncle may have been a neglectful bastard but he was meticulously careful about Health and Safety, I smelled a rat and started to investigate. I walked into the trap set by my new guardian Alan Blunt. He knew precisely how to blackmail me, he threatened to deport the housekeeper who looked after me, to sell the house I grew up in and to send me to some boys home or reform school. So like Alice plunging down the rabbit hole the nightmare began." Alex then passed over the flash drive. "Lots to read, most of the information I hacked off my foster father's computer before I left in 2004. The password is Echo Sierra Tango Romeo Oscar Victor all lower case no spaces between the words." Alex drank the second glass of wine. "Edward Pleasure will confirm every word. He works for the Guardian, Vanity Fair and has a literary agent at Pollmark Books." This was the test to see if MI6 came after Simon. It would also prove if Simon was willing to continue a relationship with a paranoid, depressed and jumpy ex spy. "Read it then decide, if you believe me and the fact those things happened here in Britain in the Twenty-first century. Edward even wrote a timeline and a full biography from Ian's death to me going completely cuckoo at High School."


	15. Chapter 15

The words Si read made his skin crawl and his heart freeze. Each revelation was like being thrown into chilled water. As he skimmed the official files and through the journalist notes, he stood to go get his copies of the three Edward Pleasure best sellers he had in his office. He could compare the edited printed text with the hard truth. The books on Damian Cray, Desmond McCain and Alan Blunt all alluded to an MI6 teen agent, unnamed but now he knew it was Alex. The man then looked at his clock, nearly 2 AM on Tuesday morning. Alex had left him to discover these horrors alone, now he needed his lover, to be reassured and to reassure that this was not going to change anything between them. Horrors beyond anything he himself had lived through or witnessed had been heaped upon a child.

In the hall he put on his leather jacket, boots and picked up the keys to his shed. Under the tarpaulin was stored his vintage Harley. Taxed and roadworthy, he rarely went for a ride these days, now preferring to walk to work or get the tube into town. At this time there was no traffic to negotiated, and he did not have far to go to Albemarle Terrace.

The large engine sounded obscenely loud in the suburban street in the middle of the night. The door to No. 44a was opened by a tired and worried Alex Rider, as Si parked up in the yard. Stood with a blank face watching the biker, who had last week proudly shown off his vintage bike and spoken of his past exploits including riding the Isle of Man TT in the late eighties.

Alex smiled wanly as Si took of his helmet to reveal a worried and concerned expression. The blond quipped "Hi, isn't it a bit late for house calls?"

"Yes, well, my boyfriend is in need of TLC, so am I. I think its shock. Can we take this inside?"

"Come on in to my humble abode."

The very narrow hall had two doors to the left. Alex led his lover back through the kitchen and past the bathroom to a small third bedroom in the rear annex. The room containing the standard furniture for a student bedroom: single bed, desk, chair and built in wardrobe. The room's walls were bare, painted neutral beige. "Do you require tea?"

"No, God no." Si put his helmet on the desk, then stripped off his coat and placed it on the chair. He then reached forward to seek the comfort he needed. Human touch to reaffirm that they were still together. That no revelations of horrors, now far in the past, would drive him away. The tall photographer was stockier than Alex, carrying a few pounds he needed to loose. He could feel the tense muscles in the lithe younger man and smell the Johnson's shampoo Alex favoured. He loved his soft, short blond hair. Suddenly he wanting to be laid in that far too small bed, without the restrictions of clothes. "Lets get some sleep."

Alex then parted, stepping back to pulling off his t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. Then turning to remove Si's shirt. The younger man using the task of unbuttoning the cotton and exposing of flesh to kiss down his lover's chest. Soon Si, was leaning in for a kiss on that perfect mount; slow passionate and consuming. Soon his jeans and boxers were unbuttoned and pushed to the floor, boots and socks toed off, still kissing this beautiful younger man, his man. Both men were hard as they manoeuvred into the narrow single bed. Erections seeking friction as they both stroked their aligned cocks. No words spoken, still kissing, slowly rocking, touching and squeezing themselves to completion.

…..

Christian got up, planning on a bowl or two of Cheerios and a gallon of tea before the boring psychology lecture. The second year nursing student was glad there were no lectures until 10, it meant he could have a leisurely start to the day. If he was lucky, Alex would be cooking something hearty and delicious. Their newest flat mate was always willing to share. Lee was adamant that Alex would be moving in with his boyfriend by the end of the summer, luckily by September there would be plenty of new students to rent the other room. He stopped in the doorway to see a stranger leaning against the counter in the kitchen drinking espresso. Alex then came out his room, whistling a happy tune.

It was Alex who spoke first "Morning, Chris. This is Si, he stayed over last night."

The dark haired nurse held out his hand to greet the grey haired man, who was more dad than boyfriend material in his eyes, but each to their own. If he made Alex happy then who was he to judge. "Morning, it's going to be a tight squeeze in here, if Lee gets up in time for morning lectures today."

Alex finished his small cup of coffee and shrugged, "No worries, we're off out for breakfast. Don't expect me back until Friday, I'll be staying over at his place"

The pair met up at the coffee shop, near Wandsworth Common, after Si had stowed his bike at home. Over croissants and more strong coffee, Si and Alex had a lot to discuss and were making plans for their next few days. "Why don't we go away?" The photographer suddenly thought, as both of them had no pressing work commitments until Friday.

Alex had not been on a proper holiday since the summer Jack died, when the Pleasures had holidayed in Hawaii. He had used his time there to start being a complete freak. "Really?"

"Yeah, my sister has a place in the New Forest. I go there to unwind occasionally. I'll ring ahead and it'll be aired and have the beds made. A neighbour cleans and looks after it for Stella." The man put the last piece of pastry in is mouth. "I should be taking you to Paris. I think you deserve the Presidential Suite at George V Hotel, you would look wonderful spread out on finest Egyptian Cotton sheets." Si smiled thinking of their frenzied jerk off session on that narrow bed a few hours ago, like pair of teenagers. "You deserve to be treated like a prince, beautiful."

"So you fantasise about us getting it on in a five star hotel? Any other fantasies we should explore?" Alex wondered what Si really liked in bed.

"Why don't we discuss such things on the drive down to Hampshire? I wish to know what you like, what turns you on as well so we can compare and contrast our preferences."

Alex was closer to Si than even Enid or Liv. His last strong, easy going and dependable friend had been Tom Harris, whom he had lost contact with after going to California. He knew his best friend had lived in Italy for a couple of years, but no more detail than that. Si understood that information forthcoming from him would be a trickle, as he lost his masks and deep seated certainty of not being believed, hurt, rejected and ridiculed.

On the long list of things they needed to discuss was sex. Si was happy with the fact Alex liked oral sex and masturbation and was cool that penetration was not everybody's thing. The blond had never tried sex with a man before Si and anal intercourse was on his list of things to do both as top and bottom, only he had hang ups about penetration that not even sex with women had fully solved. It was a fear he needed to get over, to move on from, he was fine with Si touching, stroking, kissing and caressing him. More than fine, he now yearned for his older lover's touch. He had always enjoyed sex, but it was becoming an obsession, he craved it and the mere thought of Si made him hard at the moment. He had never been particularly hormonal as a teenager, but seemed to be making up for that fact now.

…..

Alex smiled as a red ancient MGB roadster pulled up at his house that afternoon for their jaunt south. Si liked his toys. He was the exact opposite of his young lover, a man with a wonderful home full of a lifetime of possessions. Alex had one small box of keepsakes, carried with him since he departed Chelsea in July 2002.


	16. Chapter 16

The pub meal had been superb, Alex had expected them to arrive at their destination and fall straight into bed at the cottage; but Si wanted to talk about the years after MI6 and before the Dog and Duck. Alex skirted the issue and talked of finally getting over his past with the help of Enid, a woman who had survived and enjoyed life beyond the horrors and disappointments. "She showed me that I am the master of my destiny and that I was the one preventing myself finding happiness and security. Her death was horrible but also kick started my walking this path, where I found you. You who want to know me despite the fact I am a million miles from nice or normal." Alex sipped his glass of water, and watched Si finish his pint of Guinness.

The walk back to the cottage in the cool twilight was so different from London. Alex wondered if the quiet would keep him awake, but quashed that thought as he knew they would be talking into the night and then fuck. He had to be open with Si, the line had been crossed and he could no longer evade, run or hide.

With freshly brewed coffee in front of them Si asked his first question "What happened with you foster parents, the Pleasures? That book on Alan Blunt published last year by your foster father was dedicated 'to Alex with much love and a million regrets'."

"So, he spilled the beans on the Grand Master of Black Ops at MI6, sorry I missed that book launch."

"It was in litigation for months. Some guy at the CIA had full anonymity via a video link from Washington to the Old Bailey gave evidence for Edward and the crown prosecution collapsed. It was on the news for weeks, we all expected it to go all the way to Strasbourg. The forward stated certain cuts were made but the book was still damning about that man." Si then smiled "Nice bit of diversion there. So, you went to live in San Francisco with your friend Sabina and her parents."

Alex leaned back and thought back to his darkest hour. "It was mistake, I just wanted to get as far away from Blunt and Jones as possible. I had no thoughts of my future and no plans on integrating back into normal life. I was broken, damaged and unwilling to seek help. So, you have a boy who had witnessed his best friend being shot, survived torture, seen the woman who had raised him burn to death, try to fit in with a happy, completely normal family unit with no previous experience of fostering, mental health issues or dealing with full on PTSD and ingrained paranoia. I was a mess with nightmares, flashbacks, major trust issues and controlling behaviour including not taking my prescribed medication, mixing painkillers with alcohol and not eating." Alex rubbed his eyes. "I thought hunger strike was a brilliant idea. Wanted to protest about my treatment but they took away my voice with the Official Secrets Act. My body became my battle ground. I slowly reduced my food intake, so by the start of High School I was on no meals, no snacks and as little fluid as possible. The shrink I had was shit. I read Sabina's psychology books and gave off pat answers about grief." He looked at Si and smiled, thankful he was no longer in that pit of despair. "I collapsed at school during my second sports lesson. I had made a promised to Liz, Edward's wife, to always tell the truth about my health and well being; but for that to work you have to ask the right questions with no leeway for bending the truth with omissions. In the emergency room the attending doctor knew the right questions to ask. When had I last eaten… fifteen days previously…. Was I controlling what I drank… yes… and did I want to die… yes. So, I went straight to the psychiatric hospital do not pass go, do not collect £200. Liz and Edward were great but they were out of their depth with a sneaky, nasty and world weary trained spy. It was surreal to begin with, as they put me in a unit with a bunch of anorexic girls. It took two days of full on non-compliance on my part to get sent to the secure unit. Sabina tried to understand but I was a major league fruit loop by them. A visit from one of my past abusers actually kicked me up the backside. Joe Byrne was a big a bastard as Alan Blunt, but he apologised with the adage, he was sorry but life was hard. If push came to shove and with hindsight, he would still have used me. I had stopped awful things happening, saved thousands if not millions of lives. I was a credit to any agency I worked with and that he himself had been where I was. In a psych ward, trying to justify the losses and his actions. He then quoted Nietzsche, 'What does not kill you makes you stronger' and that I should be strong for Jack. She would want me well and happy. To be the man I had the promise to be and stop wallowing in self-pity. Take each day at a time and talk, tell my shrink everything." I got better and five months later I was back at the Pleasures house. Sabina smiled at me but her eyes were full of pity. Her friends were complete bitches. I overheard Edward giving a report on my recovery to Tulip Jones and the truth of my life there was laid bare. That woman just had to threaten Sab or her parents and I was back to square one. To say the next four months were tense is an understatement. I was a ghost and I worked full on catching up with school work and stayed in my room. Oh, I towed the line, went to therapy, ate my meals but the lights were on and nobody was home. I got my place sorted with St. Brendan's ahead of a planned holiday to London. I left the hotel and exchanged life with a foster family to a halfway house with my own social worker. I cut them out of my life, paranoia was in play but it was my way of distancing myself from being blackmailed back into operations. The queen bitch of the universe came to tell me my trust fund was off limits the day before my eighteenth birthday. At eighteen I planned to sell Cheyne Walk and move to rural France and live like a hermit. Tulip tightened her grip over my future so I left and lived on the streets."

His coffee had gone cold. Simon had let him talk with no interruptions, allowing him to get it out without clamming up. The blond got up and put the kettle on. "I still live in fear of her turning up, ruining my life again. Her, Blunt, my Grief clone and Yassen visit at night to shape my nightmares with cruel twists of fate. I prefer my dreams of you, your lips, your hands and your cock."

"So, let me reassure you. I love you, your body, your mind and I want you to be my future. I will take exile, if you want. We can move about, keeping everything easy and just like you're used to. I would give up my secure bit of surburbia for you."

Alex almost chuckled in a strained half sob. "No, here I draw the line. I am starting to live my life. I been running far to long. I need stability and I fell in love with a photographer with a snazzy home, a love of good food, excellent wine and evil Irish stout. No, I will do on the books at the pub, become legit, sort out my back payments to the tax man. I need a check up with both dentist and doctor. For you, I will become civilised. You have tamed me." The last was said with an genuine smile. The photographer had admitted to being attracted to a wild stubborn and dangerous man, masquerading as a temporary barman; seeing through the charade and the masks of man, who had had made a life of escape and evade.

…

Alex was well aware there was no happy ever after and that some things were worth fighting for, even dying for. He announced the fact he was planning on moving in with Si at the end of August, giving the two flatmates the plenty of notice, to see Chris handing Lee twenty pounds.

"It was obvious you were in need of a protector and well, big bad Si can look after you." Lee smiled. "I love it when Cupid strikes. So, you guys actually use that four letter word then, the l-o-v-e one?"

"Yeah, Si was first, saying he'd run away with me, as I've spent most of the last six years running and I said I'd stay for him, because I'm addicted to him. I had a childhood moving about every three to six months, only stopping to go to shitty Brookland Comp for four years, so I've made a huge commitment. God, I sound so soppy. So, how about I treat you guys to dinner, I was planning on either lasagne or spaghetti and meatballs?"

"You keep spoiling us like this and we won't want you to go. Make Lasagne and I'll buy desert." Chris was happy with the bribe of food.

Lee chuckled knowing his best friend's favourite pud, "Let me guess it'll be ice-cream."

"Not just ice cream but chocolate ice-cream with marshmallows and mixed in M&amp;M's."


	17. Chapter 17

Carlos watched his boss. It was obvious that his boss, Simon, was blissfully happy and cheerful. Placing a cup of tea in from of his boss at the end of the day, then asked after the reason for his friend's change from grump to happy bunny. "So, your boyfriend is moving in with you. Its all happening very fast."

"We've been dating for seven weeks and I am positive he is a forever type of guy. I bet by Christmas we'll be arranging our civil ceremony. I never told you I photographed Alex in 2005, asked him to come back to my place. He does not do casual. All or nothing, totally committed to us as a couple. Cooks wonderfully, is fastidiously tidy, my cleaner loves him. Even my sister Stella adores him. He's so different to Serge. Alex never asks about my ex lovers but has been completely honest over his own sexual experiences."

The assistant had worked for the photographer for seven years and Simon Carrington was a famous photographer, but only in arty, fashion and advertising circles. Most knew him from his fifteen years with the virtuoso violinist, with multiple platinum selling albums of covers of film themes, love songs and even rock and pop. "He probably read about your break up with Serge in the gutter press. Back then you were one of the few openly gay couples and that bastard violinist is named as the other man in the Colonsay divorce. I remember the whole 'Billionaire gets caught out during divorce of the decade…. Colonsay Foods heir has secret male lover… Serge Monterey cheats on long term boyfriend… Violinist moves out of London Home and into Billionaire's Monaco Pad'. Need I say more. You gave that interview to the Guardian to get the press off your back. You then went to do six months work for UNICEF making your ex look like complete gold digger. I know you just went to get away from all the negative publicity, but you have to admit Serge acted like a utter prat."

Si could only now look back and not feel the deep hurt from his lover's betrayal and desertion. "The work in San Paulo was my reality check that my comfortable life as a member of the jet set entourage was a house of cards. I chose to ignore the fact that Serge was never faithful, never mine. I have spent the last ten years looking for love and now I have it. Alex is nothing like any of my past lovers. Most will only see him as a boy toy, considering the twenty year age gap, but he has an old soul. I hope to spend the next thirty plus years together, God willing, and I will alway treasure what we have. Alex needed some one like himself; needed a connection to a fellow traveller on the Road of Life. He is one in a million."

"Show me those photos from 2005 then. I want to see 18 year old lover boy."

The boxes of negatives and prints were in an archive store, all had been scanned onto an external hard drive. So boxes and boxes of work were no available on a silver box kept in a fireproof safe.

"Shit, he looks skeletal."

"Yeah, that was him recovering from anorexia. I hate to think what he looked like in two years before when he was on hunger strike."

Carlos pondered that "He tried to starve himself to death?"

"He was very disturbed. He had suffered horrible abuse, his then foster parent knew about some of it but he did not talk about the worst aspects. Alex has told me some, but I think it will talk a long time for all the horrid details to be shared."

Si then thought back to his sister's assessment of his young lover. "You are playing with fire, Simon. I could not imagine anyone more different than your Serge. A self-confessed thief, with major trust issues. He's sharp, too. Conversed with me with the ease and assurance. I think he has an IQ bordering on brilliant. He must had endured an awful childhood and early adulthood to be so guarded and to have found hiding in the underclass preferable to his comfortable upper middle class upbringing."

The Photographer had then told his sister everything he knew about Alex Rider and showed her the files the young ex-spy had supplied to back up his story. "He means the world to me, my Star, so soon. I fallen hook line and sinker, I can't loose him. If he runs, I will run with him." The man had already told his lover that his sister was the one person he told everything to and Alex had shrugged, but not told Si to keep his past secret.

…

Alex arrived at the Cafe in Notting Hill for the lunch arranged by Stella, for her to get to know her baby brother's boyfriend better. They had met the week before at Si's house. She had dropped off her brother's birthday present and been pleasantly shocked that her baby brother had started dating again. Not only dating, but was serious about a man younger than their nieces and nephews.

The woman was sat in the summer sun on the third table north of the cafe's door reading a copy of the Times. It all looked very Parisian, with the roped off tables out front, perfect crisp linen table cloths and contrasting indigo napkins, elegant silverware and glassware and mixed blue and white parasols.

Alex sat and could not help himself "I read your book on Odysseus when I was twelve. For about ten minutes I really considered classics as the most thrilling subject in the world, but alas I then went to play football in the park with my best friend Tom and I was again set on playing footie professionally for Chelsea Football Club."

"And here you are a barman, not a footballer."

"Broke my ankle very badly when I was fourteen. Hurts like a bitch in the cold and wet. Which is of course a big fat whopping lie as I stopped wanting to be a footballer when my uncle was murdered and I decided to play amateur detective. That was when I was drawn into the world of shadows and now ten years later I'm only just daring to walk in the sun again"

"I am not a sheltered academic. I write, teach and live for my subject; but I've had five very passionate love affairs, have never married and scandalise my elder brother Charles continuously, as does darling Simon. The Honourable Charles Carrington, C.C. as we call him is an old stick in the mud. My first lover was a field operative for MI6, this was back in the late 1970's. He was a cold manipulative bastard; after six months I started dating a wonderful actor. Si is a lovely boy, but he dotes on me and asked for my opinion and help with a back up plan, a safety net for the pair of you. He did not betray your confidence lightly, but you have enemies, darling."

Alex smiled and was not disappointed in this strong woman, who was just as Si had described her, forthright, unafraid and ruthless in her protection of her family. "And powerful friends. The CIA and the FSA owe me; not that I would ever call in any favours from them. I also saved the lives of seven boys in 2001, who just happen to be heirs of seven very influential people. I was also the foster son of the talented and very lucky journalist, Edward Pleasure. A man who has detailed files on me, including copies of the official FSA and CIA files." Files that had originally fallen into the hands of Harry Bulman. "I would destroy all in my path to keep Si safe. MI6 and Scorpia forged me into a weapon. It took me years to understand that I am no easily manipulated child anymore. I never asked Si to keep those files secret, I knew he would need to talk to the person he trusted above all others, which is you."

"Well, well, Si still thinks you need protecting. I pity any that try to get the better of you. Now lets eat and tell me all about falling for my dear, clueless brother."

Over sparkling water, croque monsieur and green salad, Alex heard all the hilarious details of Si's childhood.


	18. Chapter 18

In late 2000, Simon Carrington had left London, left England and spent six months photographing street children in Brazil. On returning, he had bought a house in Wandsworth, miles away from his former friends, drawing a line through the life where he had lived in Kensington, among the rich and successful. He started work in the evenings recording the homeless, dispossessed and the hustlers in the capital. This was not the first time the ex-soldier had reinvented himself. After leaving the army in 1986 he had met Serge, already an established soloist with the London Philharmonic. From an unhappy, listless man, who had grown to hate army life, to falling in lust with the East End boy social climbing from Stepney to be World famous and a member of the jet set. Serge, born Archie Booth, had collected Simon, an officer and Gentleman who had attended Eton, connected to the right sort of people having been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

He had effectively blackballed himself from his military past by coming out in the era of HIV and Aids. Only two of those he served with were still were friendly. Finally in 2011, Simon was settling down.

"Therapy? I suppose I get where you're coming from. You are quite right with your judgement that I still have issues, but I think you alone will get me over my hang ups." Alex had been confronted with Si arranging couples therapy, mainly to deal with problems Alex still had over certain aspects of intimacy.

"Talking will help. I saw Damian after Serge left. He helped me deal with my feelings of betrayal and inadequacy. The sessions will help us get into a routine of being open and upfront with our problems. I want to do everything in my power to make this work and to move on from mistakes in my past. You know that, I too, have issues to get over."

"So, we, as in plural, are seeing a shrink. I guess your to-do list also includes a health check up and a frigging visit to a dentist as well." Si was pushing him to take care of himself, but Alex was caught in his promise to stop acting like a caged animal. "Tit, fuck and buggery! I need a session with a shrink to psyche myself up for that" Alex grumbled. Moving in and moving back into normal life was unnerving in the extreme, he wanted to run, it was the easy option but the ultimate form of avoidance and denial. Maybe he could start by writing lines 'I will not do a runner'.

...

Neil was impressed with the very mature attitude to getting into a routine of openness before Si and Alex moved in together. It had actually been very relaxed and for the first twenty minutes Si had chatted until Alex had opened up about his problems. The barman had convinced himself at 18 the therapy and drugs were not helping. This time talking of specific aspects to his controlling behaviour was a way of confronting the mess he was still in.

The Aussie asked "So, how was your session? Helpful?"

Alex paused, wishing the bar was rammed rather than talking about his problems. "It was a start. I was sexually assaulted as a teenager and it has left me with serious issues regarding penetration. Si is very understanding and he arranged the sessions with Damian to get me comfortable with talking through my problems. Not running, no denials or avoidance."

"You poor thing." The man moved to give his colleague a brief hug. "It takes time and understanding to get over a trauma like that. Si isn't pushing you to bottom, is he?"

"Err, no. He's happy with me being happy and comfortable and sex is great. I love touch and oral, I think its me that needs to try. Hell, I had problems dating girls. Sex now is just wonderful and Si tells me full anal sex is mind blowing, but he understands that a bad first experience is a mountain to get over. It wasn't rape… but that's just a technicality over semantics … it was bad. I was young, still a virgin, brutalised, humiliated and very frightened. Hell, its taken me nearly ten years to get off the fence and actually date properly." Alex stood still and closed his eyes, slowly letting out a breath he'd been holding.

"Do you need a cup of tea and a sit down? You're upset. I wish I hadn't asked now. I thought it was just you two getting to know each other better."

Alex smiled wryly. "Si got me, right from the start. I never told you but I first met Si when I was 18. He photographed me when I was dipping on Old Compton Street."

"Dipping?" asked Neil on the bit of slang.

"Picking pockets."

"Oh? Were you in prison or juvie?"

"Arrested as a teenager for criminal damage, never charged. I always had a drop. Bit of advice, never work alone. Best if there's a lookout as well, which means the take is split three ways. I always picked my mark, always someone not going to miss a few quid." Alex had lust admitted to his boss of his not so salubrious past. "I stopped all that when I started working for Mr. Patel. It was rough living in squats but a million times better than on the streets. For the past four years I've rented rooms. Being a thief was too close to being the man my uncle wanted me to be."

"No worries over your past. We checked your references. Mr. Murphy asked if you needed work he'd take you back on."

"I liked roofing. I have no fear of heights, which helps."

…..

If you are superstitious, bad things happen in threes. It started with Sorcha Murphy coming into the Dog and Duck on a Saturday in late June to catch up with her hero, Alex. "Where have you been hiding, Mister. My stupid brother lets you walk off site three years ago; then my da says your working here on a weekend. What have you been doing and why did you not say goodbye?"

"You had gone off to uni, Missy. I needed to move on. Might be putting down roots here though."

"Well, so, about uni; I got a first in Business Studies and I'm now working for Padraig, my cousin. Declan is still running Murphy's Scaffolding and Roofing with Da. Expanding despite things being tight for a few years. You know Da will always give you a job, if you need one. You seem a bit overqualified for serving."

"Its a laugh working here. Anyway, being a barman has done me good. I have a steady boyfriend and I'm really happy for the first time in years."

"Boyfriend, Is he tall dark and handsome? Da might have to give his approval, you being his best boy? I think you need to bring him home to shock Declan out of his narrow minded homophobia."

Alex smiled and shook his head. Handing over a rum and coke to the girl he had acted as good samaritan to in 2007. Young Sorcha had been a wild, opinionated and determined party girl, making her father old before his time. Her mother dead and she coped by acting the bad girl. She might have dressed like a slut, drunk and enjoyed herself with her girlfriends, but her behaviour brought her dangerously close to a nasty piece of work . Beware charming men buying you drinks and offering to take you home. Sorcha had enough wits about her to fight back hard, easy for the only girl with three elder brothers, when Alex had heard her screams, she was bruised and bloody, her clothes torn and her attacker had assumed no one was about the industrial estate in Bermondsey at 2AM. Alex had gotten the girl a taxi home, paid her fare and been forced to go with her to face the Murphy clan. It could have gone really badly, but Sorcha had introduced Alex as her have-a-go hero.

It was nice to catch up when the young red-head's phone rang out an loud and brash ringtone.

"Where is he? …. Oh dear god, I'll meet you there Dec. Bye."

Alex watched as Miss Murphy blanched and take in a deep breath, obviously upset.

"Da's had a heart attack. He's on his way to St. George's."

"I'll get a taxi for you, Sis. Don't worry. Its only five minutes away."


	19. Chapter 19

Visiting Atkinson Morley Wing at St. Georges Hospital on a Monday afternoon, Alex had not expected to see a face from his dim and distant past. His destination that afternoon was to visit Daragh Murphy, who was recovering on the Belgrave Ward on the First Floor. In Main Reception, at the front of the queue for information was a tanned and still very fit looking Jerry Harris, Tom's older brother. For a second, Alex thought about heading straight to the stairs but curiosity got the better of him.

"Hi, Jerry"

The brown haired man frowned before recognising the person before him. "Oh my God, Alex Rider. Fuck, its been ten years. So, you heard about Tom's accident."

"Err, no. I'm here to visit my friend Sorcha's dad. He had a heart attack on Saturday."

"Right, Sergeant Harris got up close and personal with an IED. He's had part of his chest wall reconstructed. Metal cage type thing. He's out of ICU and on Caroline Ward. It looks like he'll get medical discharge. Mum's ecstatic and guilty about being happy that Tom's out of the line of fire. So, what happened to you, stranger?"

So, the estranged friend of Tom Harris told Jerry a very condensed version of events since the shooting incident at Brookland. The last time Alex had seen Tom or any of his family.

Da was surprised to see his first visitor of the day, the strange young man who had waltzed in and out of his family's lives in 2007-2008. "My prodigal son returns. Sorcha was so happy to have tracked you down. I hear you have found someone special."

"You look awful, Da. Here, I brought you a book to keep yourself occupied."

The man unwrapped a copy of the Legends of Irish Boxing. "A book I actually might read. Glory days, to think I was quite the boxer myself when I was a lad. Come and sit, tell me all you've been up to since Declan let you go. If I had been on site, I would have sent you back to the yard to do small jobs and deliveries, not give you your matching orders. That boy never thinks things through." The fifty-five year old from Newry watched to see the changes, Alex looked fit and healthy, but there was still a great weight on that boy's shoulders, the past still casting a shadow on the present.

After tea, jokes and much banter, Alex left before the Murphy's arrived en masse after four thirty. Two floors up, Alex ventured into Caroline ward to see the critically injured Tom Harris.

….

Tom had first been in hospital in 2005, he fondly remembered his two nights at St. Dominic's in Swiss Cottage; which was a millions times better than the NHS or the Army Hospital. He wished he could afford the luxury of that private hospital. It had been ten days since the new guy in their unit had stepped on that booby trap, killing himself and injuring three others on patrol that fateful day. The full force of the blast had hit a structural support shielding Tom from the shrapnel, his body armour and helmet had saved his life but the blast had caused the building they were in to collapse, a concrete pillar crushing his left side. His arm was still wrapped in bandages as was his chest, complete with drain and the boredom of weeks recovering in hospital were his immediate future. He was stuck in bed when he would have preferred Helmand Province to laying on his back in bed in London. He loved being a grunt. Made it to Sergeant, working on promotion to Lieutenant the hard way. His plans of a life as a career soldier curtailed by this injury. No wonder the shrink was prescribing him anti-depressants, only the bloody tablets weren't happy pills. He was a million miles from happy, his friends all on the other side of the world and his mother fussing him like he was ten.

From his bed, he could see the nurses station and the hall. The TV was off and the others in the ward were dozing or reading. Daytime TV sucked and Jerry had gone to collect their mother after she finished work.

He listening in as his name was spoken by a tall bloke in the hall to the duty nurse, Louisa.

"Afternoon Sergeant, I see you've taken up my old job of saving the world."

"Fucking hell! Its Alex bloody Rider. So, I have to nearly die for you to come and see me." he said snidely.

"Well, I did talk to your mum in June 2002 after Jack died in Egypt, she threatened to take out a restraining order against me and I did write to you until my eighteenth birthday. She's not here, so I can talk to you. Don't take it personally, I've been out of touch with everyone since 2004, except for Sabina for roughly 10 minutes three months ago when I told her to leave me alone. I talked to Jerry when I saw him downstairs, he told me you've been playing GI Joe and I told him my life story since leaving Chelsea. While you were in Italy; I went to California with the Pleasures and I went nuts. Five months in the funny farm, self harm, anorexia, then I fucked off completely. I know you post stuff on Sabina's Facebook page, so you have read her blog and the fact I walk my own path, with no interference from the Bank. I fell out with Edward because he was sending reports about my lack of progress to Tulip. I know I'm completely self centred, but I have the excuse of untreated extreme paranoid depression. You never wrote or called, did your mum threaten you too?"

"I was used to you disappearing, only difference was that you really did it. You came back to London when I was in Harrogate. We lost touch. So, you have no friends, I take it."

"I've move often, but I am not without friends, just no one I knew before my 18th birthday. Clean slate and all that has worked for me. I'm actually dating someone seriously, moving in together soon, thinking of getting hitched. Actually seeing a shrink again, so I'm coming out of the cold, so to speak. You must come and meet Si when your fit and well again."

"Funny name for a girl, short for Simone?"

"No, Simon. He's a photographer."

"You're a poofter?" Tom practically shouted and laughed. "Didn't see that one coming, Rider. Makes sense, you being crazy and all. No woman would want you."

The nurse then came in, "If you are upsetting my patients. You have to leave."

"I was just going. Bye Tom, see you round, I told Jerry where I'm working, if you want to stay in touch."

"No, chance you fucking homo!"

…..

Jerry listened as his younger brother ranted that the boy he had idolised for years was in fact gay.

"I could have told you he swung both ways when I met him in 2001. He had a bit of a crush on me, all that blushing and staring. You told me about his on-off thing with Sabina. What's your problem with him coming out?"

"Alex isn't queer, wasn't I should say. He was a proper bloke, he like sport, football, playing video games. He wasn't into anything like fashion or musicals. Was he lying to me at school?"

"When we talked downstairs, it sounded like he fell in love and came out, all fairly recently." Jerry leaned back and stretched, knowing the nurse was watching him in a similar way fourteen year old Alex had watched him. The dark haired man in his late twenties was still eye candy and knew it. He would get that lovely lady's phone number later. He was happy playing fast and loose. "Get over yourself, Tom. Alex's sexuality does not mean he changed personality. Sounded like Si was an alright, as in not typically gay as well, just a bloke. Not every gay man fits the stereotype of being into musicals, transvestism, acting effeminate and screwing anything not tied down." In four days, Jerry was going back to Italy, just far enough way from his crazy, uptight family.

….

Si listened to his lover describe his hospital visits. The elder Mr. Murphy accepting Alex, warts and all and his old school friend cutting ties immediately. The sad truth that being out and proud, meant you found out just who were open minded and who were bigots, living in fear that your life would infect or affect them.


	20. Chapter 20

It was a typical Tuesday morning. Alex had stayed over in Wandsworth and was up early to prepare breakfast before cycling over to do some jobs for Mr. Shah. On the mat by the door was today's paper, Si got the Telegraph delivered every day. Alex did not normally bother to read the press, but the lowest headline on the front page caught his eye.

_Machiavellian Spymaster Blunt dies, will identity of teen spy now be revealed?_

Alex was conflicted. Not at all sad to see that bastard in his grave, pity it was natural causes; but the idea of his past becoming open season dismayed him. He knew he had no allies at the Bank to back him up and if the press caught up with him, he would be on his own.

Maybe it was time to forgive Edward, a man he had accused of betrayal by talking to Tulip, when he knew the man was on no position to refuse her, as the bank had remained his legal guardians as the Pleasures had only been fostering him.

He went through the motions of his routine and made scrambled eggs, toast and grilled tomatoes for two, knowing Si would be down in a minute. He had read the terse and brief obituary, as if the columnist could find very little of positive note to describe the life of Alan Herbert Blunt. The front page spin reflected the slim details in Edward's biography of the man and his fall from grace for using a fourteen year old as an agent.

He wondered about that man's funeral and the fact would it was oh so tempting to go and trash that man's sending off. He could bet Blunt had lived in some detached house in the Home Counties, attending church every Sunday and having a devoted wife. The perfect image of a city banker or civil servant for a man trading death, pain and blackmail.

Si sat down with his morning coffee and read the back pages about the cricket first. After eating the hot breakfast, the photographer turned the paper over and scanned the headline news. "Are you ok?" He asked giving his full attention to his companion.

"Feel like dancing, actually. Says it was an aneurism. Pity, that sounds like it was probably quick and painless, I'd have preferred for Dr. Three to torture him for maybe two or three months, so death as a result of constant agony. If you believe in Hell, he's going to be joining Ian down there." Alex finished his last slice of toast, before loading the dishwasher and wiping down the surfaces. "I might be late tonight, going to drop by the library for a bit of research"

"If you are wanting to know the time and place of Mr. Blunt's funeral, I can pay a visit to the Army and Navy Club and enquire. Quite a few of the chaps had dealings with the SAS and probably your uncle's bank as well. I would think it will be family and friends only."

"Is it that obvious I want to gatecrash? Technically Blunt was my guardian after Ian died, funny I only met him to do his bidding." Jack was in the impossible position of de facto guardian but with also completely under Blunt's thumb. That bastard had not cared that Alex had started to go off the rails after Point Blanc, nor the huge amounts if school he missed.

Si could understand the need for closure. "If he had done half of that shit to me, I'd be pissing in his grave not dancing on it."

The former Captain, true to his word, had popped into his club in central London and over a few G &amp; T's with other retired and serving officers relaxing at the bar, found out the date, time and location of service and burial for the former Director of MI6 Special Operations. A memorial was being arranged for all mourners, as the funeral was a strictly private affair.

On Thursday, the young barman was back in complete spy mode. Alex was going to borrow a motorbike to attend Blunt's funeral. The vehicle in question was stored in a poorly secured shed on the next street over from the pub. The owner was currently on holiday. Si was busy until Sunday with a series of advertising shoots. Even so, he had offered to accompany Alex, but it wasn't as if he was an official mourner, or even wanted to be noticed at all. Alex already had leathers, boots and a helmet; bought to ride pillion with Si. When he got his act together he planned on taking his Part Two Motorbike Test and maybe getting his own bike. The borrowed ride was an untaxed, fifteen year old Honda with a 750cc engine, luckily in good mechanical order and very fast. With a bit of black tape, the number plate was disguised and Alex headed for rural West Sussex, his route on B roads avoiding traffic cameras and congestion.

...

Alan Blunt's funeral service had been brief, concise and no-nonsense, like the man himself. The funeral party went from the small Norman church into the extended Churchyard to stand beside the freshly dug grave. The twenty mourners were all over forty, including work colleagues and other agency directors from Interpol, the EU, America and Russia. Alex observed from the shadows in the wooded copse off Birdham Lane. One man near the back, he recognised, Joe Byrne of the CIA. The two people he expected to definitely be there were absent, Tulip Jones and John Crawley were not invited to the funeral of their former boss.

After the coffin was lowered, Alex made his way to the rear of the barn where he had stowed the motorbike. He had walked the long way around the village, giving all the others time to disperse to the wake.

It was very warm as he went to put his leather jacket back on; when he was started by the familiar American accent of the Deputy Director of CIA Special operations "Nice Bike, Alex. Are you still living on the streets?"

"The bike is not mine and is technically stolen. It'll be back in its garage tonight and the owner none the wiser that its been borrowed. That fat bastard has a bad back anyway and this beauty is off the road otherwise and has been for a while." Alex turned around to face the spymaster, "I'm renting a room off two nurses at the moment. I have a job and a boyfriend. In fact, I'm moving in with Simon at the end of the month." He did not like Joe Byrne, but he did not hate him. He had treated the teenager as an adult with problems rather than as a problem teen, when they last met. Sure, the man was a bastard, but he had been bothered to visit Alex, when he was in the clinic in California, to motivate the desperately morose kid to move on from rock bottom.

The spy seemed very relaxed, loosening his tie in the mid summer heat. "Glad to hear, you're doing OK. Are you still in therapy?"

"Yeah, after six years of sticking my head in the sand, I'm seeing a guy in Clapham. He's helped a lot. I get that talking does actually help. Must cost Si a packet, but he says the shrink helped him colossally after his last serious relationship went sour. Before you ask, my lover has already asked me to be his one and only and we're planning on a civil partnership ceremony next summer."

"Congratulations, will I get an invite?"

"Sure, Joe. I'll send it via Langley, shall I?"

"I would get it. Although I'm retiring at the end of next month. You know the truth; that unless you cut all ties, you never really leave this business. I will be in a few days a month tying up unfinished business over the next few years. Good thing, I now have one less loose end on my books, now that I see that you are recovering, happy and settled, far from spooks-ville."

Alex reached into his back pocket, for a tall, lean and mean black guy emerged from the nook he was hiding in, gun in hand, poised to fire; and barked "Hands out front where I can see them."

Alex stood still for a moment in shock before moving both hands in front of him, palms out. "I haven't handled a gun since Cairo. I was just going to give Joe my card, I have a few in my wallet. It has my mobile on it. So, I work at the Dog and Duck on Wandsworth Common, Friday evenings and all day Saturday and Sunday. If you visit on Sunday after 7, you can meet Si."


	21. Chapter 21

Tense, elated and finally free of the man who had turned his life into a nightmare. Alex got a take-out Madras curry with side order of poppadoms and lime pickle intent on celebrating with the endorphin rush from chillies as Si wasn't available to fuck him into the mattress and would not be back until Sunday. Frankly wanking had lost its edge compared to having a truly wonderful, caring and sexy partner to fulfil your wants and desires.

Alex was now released from his past, tomorrow he planned on booking an appointment with an accountant to sort out his tax affairs, pay NI and finally emerge from the shadows. The genie was out of the bottle, the only stumbling block now was the family he truly cared about, the Pleasures. He could send Sabina flowers, to say 'finally my abuser is dead. I love you, but I don't regret my survival strategy', but his contact with Tom had shown him Alex now was not the person they had been friends with. He was a true Rider and a bit of a bastard, as he was hard enough to stick to his principles that this was his life, his choices, this is me, deal with it; because he had no room for hurt or modifying himself to accommodate other peoples controlling attitudes. Sab cared for him deeply, but she still thought of him as that broken, lost sixteen year old who could and would not deal with his traumas. It may have taken years but he was now on the road to normality, whatever that final destination was.

It was late as he ate his Indian, musing on things he could not change. He would write himself a note to discuss with Damian on Monday. Moving forward, becoming a fully paid up member of society. Joe Byrne had assured him with austerity, even the security services had to account for every penny. Alex Rider was on nobodies action list, Joe Byrne had always had the missing man on his personal checklist, to make sure Alex was not completely damaged by the work he had been forced to do. The soon to retire CIA man would keep in touch, happy that Alex was in a good place, having finally moved on from the hurt and trauma.

…..

Andrei Budeyev ordered a bottle of good burgundy, he had already chosen his dinner off the menu. Now, he was waiting for his guest. The Savoy Grill was oh so very English. It had been many years since he had last dined here. He would enjoy every bite of starter, entree and dessert. It was a coincidence that his visit to in England coincided with the death of Blunt. He was here for a holiday with his old friend, Mikhail Shalikov, who was a wealthy oil-tsar, now living in Chelsea and celebrating his seventieth birthday this weekend.

He had a lot of time on his hands just to enjoy life, as he had retired as Director of Division Two of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation last year.

He had crossed paths with Joe Byrne over the Sarov incident in Murmansk. That man's ruthlessness and tenacity had formed a grudging tentative alliance and then friendship between the opposing forces. They met for dinner or lunch when their busy schedules allowed. The international fight against terrorism had made old enemies allies in the twenty-first century. He had not attended Alan Blunt's funeral for the simple reason that he was a long term objector to that man's abuse of a teenage boy, forcing a child to work as an operative, without pay, adequate back up or any care for the boy's health and well being. So his thoughts strayed to Alex Rider, who at fourteen had saved Russia and most of Europe from a nuclear catastrophe. A fact only a handful of people were aware of. He was one who could never pay that young man back for his courage and resourcefulness. With that sour thought, he raised his glass in tribute to that brave boy who had chosen to disappear in 2005. If he had been Russian, that child would have never had to lift another finger, his medical problems would have been treated in the finest clinics abroad. The scandal over using a child in operation had led to Alan Blunt's early retirement and had not been helped by the publication of the book detailing Britain's dirty tricks under his tenure. The fact was Mr. Pleasure's book had also uncovered the Estrov Incident, detailed from the testimony of the only survivor, the son of the biochemist Artem Gregorovich.

Tonight he would gossip with Joe Byrne, enjoy his meal and look forward to his safe and secure future, not the mistakes and misfortunes of the past.

Joe was running late, but he knew Andrei could amuse himself. He normally was quite happy to let the older man moan and reminisce. Tonight he had news that would cheer the old curmudgeon up.

"Evening, Andrei. Sorry, my meeting at the Embassy overran. Nothing sinister, just more fine tuning of the ever shrinking federal budget." He ordered a martini, needing the jolt of pure alcohol after such a long and tedious day. The grill menu offered a fine selection of food his doctor stated he should steer clear of. After a life of dodging bullets, bombs and knives in the back, Joe ordered a 16oz T-bone steak with all the trimmings. If he keeled over with an aneurism or heart attack now, he could pass with the knowledge he had lived his life full on, no half measures and no regrets. It was too late to walk the middle road of moderation, not with the blood on his hands and the fact he had run out of luck around 1982.

Food ordered, Andrei had raised an eyebrow, when the American had ordered champagne after downing his martini. "To celebrate both our retirements. I'm spending the first six weeks sightseeing the National Parks, camping and living out of my car. I've spent the last twenty years using my vacation time to catch up on my sleep."

"So, you went to Blunt's funeral." The Russian grimaced. "I thought the wine was to toast that man."

"Blunt is on a one way ticket to Hell. We both know that. I might have news to help us both sleep easier. There was an observer of the funeral. I talked to him afterward. I do not use the word mourner because I think Cheryl Blunt was the only person there to genuinely to grieve for her husband's passing." With a glass raised and a smile worthy of the money he had spent on dentistry. "Alex Rider was there to close the door on his past and see his abuser six feet under. He looked fit and well. A fine young man, settled and happy. He's in a steady relationship, a homosexual one, which threw me. Shows that our psychological assessments aren't that accurate when assessing teenage boys."

"Umm, we knew that his relationship with Cossack was a complex one. The trauma's suffered would have shaped his psyche to accept love in any form. So, what is he doing with his life now he is no longer homeless?"

"He's a bartender, works at a pub in South London. Told me to drop in on Sunday evening to meet his partner, Simon."

Andrei processed the fact the elusive Alex Rider had finally ended his self-imposed internal exile. "It is a shame, but my commitments mean I cannot join you. Please send along my congratulations and good wishes to Alexander."

…..

Joe Byrne paused outside the Pub overlooking Wandsworth Common, the place was crowded, the tables outside all occupied. The bar was dark and cool inside, compared to the bright evening sunshine and sticky August heat. Only a few were waiting for the lone barman to serve them. He had his choice of four stools but sat next to the only other drinker sat up front. He waited for minute and then greeted his former operative "Evening Alex." The man then turned to see the grey haired, tall handsome man he was sat next to, who had a half drunk pint of Guinness in front of him, just as Alex had described his boyfriend. "I assume you're Simon? Hi, I'm Joe Byrne."


	22. Chapter 22

The Taxi, driven by Mr. Shah's cousin, had dropped Alex off at Si's house on Bollingbroke Grove with all his belongings. Considering he'd lived with Chris and Lee for less than six months, he had amassed a awful lot of stuff. Books, clothes and a fair few cooking utensils and pans, having introduced the boys to the possibilities of eating other things than microwave meals and pizza.

He paused before letting himself in. This was a real life changing event, for the first time since San Francisco, he had a home with no conditions. This time he wasn't afraid of the big bad bank, even if they came after him now; only him and Si mattered. Si had his back and Alex would not bend to the pressure of blackmail and extortion anymore. Once broken, he was nothing to them now. No threat could clear him for espionage work, he would fail any medical or psych test. It was that simple, he had been around the bend and emerged from paranoia and depression as a stronger and wiser man.

In the large bedroom, walk-in wardrobe and en-suite on the second floor, Alex stowed his clothes and kept his books in a box at the bottom of the wardrobe. The last thing to not unpack, but to hide was his nest egg of solid gold coins. Over the years, he had exchanged paper wads of wonga for the certainty of bullion as long term security with a mix of krugerrands and sovereigns. He watched prices and bought when the market dropped, making sure he got the best deals in a market that was normally rising. It was a fair weight of ready cash, nearly nine grands worth. He weighed the small bag in his hands, so little, less than twenty coins in all. Most the result of his time stealing, when he had urgently accumulated a get out quick fund. He had kept Enid's last Christmas Present as its wad of notes, more keepsake now. Money to buy a van and tools, if he wanted. Only he was happy doing his bits and pieces, while working the 31 hours at the pub every weekend.

The coins were hidden in the bedroom, behind a loose board in the built-in bookshelf the perfect cubbyhole to stash his hoard. He always thought on Samuel Pepys at these times, burying his valuables including a prized Parmesan cheese, as London burned in 1666. He could not bury anything in Si's low maintenance yard covered in stone slabs. He then went to he cellar to brew a cuppa. The calendar on the fridge had today's date ringed with a heart, even though Alex had spent most nights here mid week since June. This was a million miles from sleeping rough in February and March. He was no longer renting, squatting or existing; he now belonged here, this was home.

….

Si was a bit of a computer buff, having owned a series of Apple Computers and played with Digital Cameras for over twenty years. He had added Alex to his home network, creating an email account and desktop. Alex was starting college to get his NVQ Level 2 and 3 qualifications in Roofing and Construction Skills.

Moving in with Si, Alex was still getting used to the absolute bliss of 24/7 Wifi on the home desktop and was seriously considering getting a laptop himself, under Si's strict instructions to buy a Mac. The ideal of surfing in bed was quickly quashed as he had much better things to do there. So, his train of thought was back to thinking of Si again, being seductive, kind and dominant.

So, after reading the various blogs he followed intermittently, he googled Point Blanc Academy Alumni, knowing Joe kept up a running commentary on the other seven classmates and their clones. The surviving Grief abominations all in high security prison or psychiatric hospitals. All unlikely ever to get out after being found guilty of murder, kidnapping and extortion. Joe ran a blog and was a contributor in a surrealist and political magazines in the States. Alex's entry read, nephew of Banker Ian Rider, currently missing assumed homeless and mentally ill. In April the boys had celebrated the 10th anniversary of their liberation and posted a new web page, offering a reward for the whereabouts of Alex Rider, last seen in London. The princely sum of $100,000 was being offered, if the lead proved to be genuine, from Paul Roscoe, who was now Director of Communications and major shareholder of Roscoe Electronics, Satellites and Cybernetics. Orphaned by Grief, Paul was a billionaire and philanthropist, engaged to a super-model and richest of all the unfortunate seven and the missing spy. For that kind of money, he'd turn himself in and now there was nothing stopping him, only fear of rejection.

…..

Joe read the usual pile of crap from all over the world from the crazies and the desperate claiming to know or be Alex Rider. He then found a cryptic email from AlexHandyManHero, which stated "_Still eating peanut butter and grated carrot sandwiches on Norwegian Dark Rye with a side of chocolate (Hershey's Special Dark preferred, not Swiss shit) and orange cookies? Am I barred from claiming my own reward, as I've always know where I was. My chosen path has led finally to home and happiness. Living with Simon and very much in love; in college getting some basic qualifications. Life in Wandsworth is good. Only joking about the reward, Paul should spend it spoiling that fabulous girl he's dating. Best wishes, sorry I missed the party, but I was not in a good place in April. Hugs, kisses and very mush retired from saving the world, only saving myself now, Alex_."

The blogger was sat staring at the screen, he and Alex after the fight and liberation had talked of food, their hatred of school and in a round of truth and dare between the boys, Alex had admitted to being bi and attracted to older men. He was torn, reply or forward this message to the other very select members in his school classmates he kept in touch with; certainly none of the brain dead, yes-men he shared a dorm with at the Military School he'd ended up in after France.

He wrote to the six other close friends in New York, Los Angeles, Canada, Holland, Germany and France. "_Hi Guys, Alex finally wrote after that jerk Paul offered that huge reward and after sorting through thousands of emails, he says he's happy. Please send your greetings direct to the man himself_."

….

At GCHQ in Cheltenham, a small subroutine went through the emails sent to a series of specific addresses. Those under scrutiny were Sabina Pleasure, Edward Pleasure and seven boys rescued by the SAS in 2001. The programme flagged up all uses of Alex and/or Rider. After running with thousands of results for several years, but none from the actual missing MI6 operative, it appeared someone professing to be Alex Rider had written to Joe Canterbury and the email had been returned.


	23. Chapter 23

Simon had had a relaxing Monday, pottering about the house. His next shoot was Wednesday and he was in London for a meeting regarding an exhibition about his work recording Soho and its nightlife tomorrow. This afternoon he had sorted through several thousand photos to select out one hundred of his favourites; from those thirty to forty would be selected to be giclee printed at large scale and then framed for most impact. One of the chosen images was of a confrontational and truly beautiful Alex Rider with the Old Compton Street sign clearly visible, standing with a group of four teenage rent boys. He would get that one printed just for his office either in the house or at his studio. He then thought about getting Alex to sit for him or maybe some photos of both of them. With a remote shutter release that was possible. In twenty-five years as a professional photographer, Si had never taken any self portraits.

At five, he was making a pot of tea, Alex would be back from college within minutes. Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays doing his NVQ's and Construction Skills. Alex had explained it was all for the necessary accreditation to get insurance and a card for Site Health and Safety. Alex was hedging his bets to be either a sole trader doing household maintenance or going back to Murphy's as a Roofing Supervisor. He was sat down attempting the cyptic crossword in the morning's paper when he heard the gate open and click locked and Alex descend the stairs to the cellar kitchen.

The blond smiled as he saw the love of his life and moved in for a hug and a kiss, lingering on the delicious body contact, before going to pour out the perfectly brewed tea. "Ahh, another intense day of stuff I already know. How I have missed you and intelligent conversation. Surrounded by a bunch of teenagers all glued to their phones and iPads. Half of what they talk about stuff I have no idea about. I must look completely gormless. The rumour doing the rounds is I'm ex-army retraining. Do I look like a squaddie? If I do, I need a make-over."

"Its how you move, observe, answer questions concisely and hold yourself. You still enter a room and access all exits, lines of sight and vantage points. It's a good habit to have, I still do it in unfamiliar places. Might save us one day." Si smiled at the fact intense training and reflexes honed in combat and sheer terror never really left you.

Alex watched his lover slowly muse over and right down answers or carefully rearrange possibilities in the margin of the paper as they both drank the tea. The younger man was certain that before he moved in Si would have had a beer, G &amp; T or a glass of wine at this time, but his own addiction to tea had changed the daily routine. No alcohol before dinner was on the table, water as well as wine and coffee afterwards, nothing stronger except on weekends. The ex-officer was also loosing weight, as Alex cooked meals and had banished the microwave ready meals and takeaways Si used to rely on.

"Paella Ok tonight?"

Si answered without breaking his concentration, "Superb idea, darling. Using those lovely prawns and mussels?"

"Yeah, freezers are fab for that sort of thing. Good quality seafood anytime. Must cook the crispy chilli squid sometime. Need to go to the fish market for that, get some with lots of lovely tentacles."

Si looked up to see a mountain of veg had already been cut up. "Thats a lot of food, love. Are we expecting guests?"

Alex had put the pan on the stove and started browning the chorizo before sharing his fears. "Might be. There was a car parked on Gorst Road this morning and the same two goons were in it tonight, one was photographing this house. I guess that Joe Byrne let the Bank know I was living with you, though I doubt it. He was far too amused that he found me first. My super paranoia about emails is more likely, as I did email my old school chum from France, Joe. I would not be surprised if the Bank keep track of all the Point Blanc Alumni. So, by the time this is all cooked either Jones, Crawley or maybe even Fox will be popping in for a chat. My bet is on Fox, the none scary face of the Bank."

"I think you might be right. I did make note of the White Escort van, with two blokes in cheap suits. I had a good discussion about then when I was chatting to Mrs. Lewis two doors down. She thought they were TV Licence Detector Vans, but I reassured her that we were fully legal." Si explained, trying to down play the fact Alex had a tendency to jump to worst possible scenario first.

"Shit, I never thought of that. Me, paranoid much. Well, we can have leftovers for lunch tomorrow."

….

As Si set the table for two, pouring out two glasses of crisp Sauvignon Blanc and thinking a slice or two of the nice sourdough bread would be a great accompaniment, the door bell rang. "I'll get it. Probably someone collecting for charity."

The retired Captain, drew himself into his no-nonsense full military bearing to see off the unwanted cold callers.

As he opened the restored Oak door with stained glass panels he saw a tall man in dark blue M&amp;S suit with dark hair, sunglasses and a very official SIS ID. "Good Evening Mr. Carrington. Would it be possible to talk to Alexander John Rider?"

The army man wished he could fob this man off, but Alex's paranoia was spot on tonight. "Please come in. We are about to have supper in the kitchen. You are most welcome to join us, Mr. Daniels."

"Thank you, for your cooperation."

Alex had served up two generous platefuls, and had telepathically sensed that Si hankered after a couple of slices of bread, which were in the centre of the table in a small basket.

"Just in time, love." Alex stated as retrieved he butter from the fridge. Turning towards the table and then standing stock still, enraptured by the MI6 agent now invading his home.


	24. Chapter 24

Suppressing the overwhelming urge to run, Alex forced himself to put the butter dish on the table and then go to the drawer to collect more cutlery and then get another plate and glasses for their guest. As Paella was put on the plate, Alex suddenly thought, it was a waste of food as he no longer felt like eating anything. He would prefer to reheat the meal later, once this unpleasant discussion was over.

"Please sit and join us for supper, Fox. I take it you came straight here from Liverpool Street and have been at work all day and are now on overtime." Alex knew from his uncle's work pattern, that the bank worked you 24/7.

The dark haired ex-soldier looked sheepish as if he thought he's been forced to be here. "Yeah, something like that. Sorry for gatecrashing, but Mrs. Jones had a low level alert on the system to catch up with you and she's in abroad at the moment. Crawley thought it was best I made contact considering everything." The man looked at the food and his stomach rumbled, breaking the ice. "Food looks great, Alex. Thanks for sharing as I'm starved."

Alex almost sneered by decided on formal politeness and started with introductions. "So, darling, this is Fox or should I say Ben Daniels, MI6 Field Officer. I last saw him when he shot my godfather. Fox, this is my beloved boyfriend and chosen life partner Simon Carrington, Retired British Army Captain formerly with the Royal Gurkha Rifles, now internationally renown photographer."

Fox looked ashen "So, I shot your godfather on Dragon Nine."

"Don't worry about it. Ash deserved it." Alex then sat, "Bon Appetito." With an internal sigh, he then forced himself to eat.

Simon could see Alex was a million miles from OK about this. Wine was poured and the three ate in silence. Only the stranger clearing his plate and mopping up the remnants with the bread. His foot moved to gently stroke Alex's leg in a small bit of under the table footsie.

With a hand covering is mouth a belch, Fox thought grimly that his first decent home cooked meal in months had been as result of ruining Alex's life very post MI6. He would enjoy breaking the news that the missing kid was shaken up with an older guy, one well connected. In the quick background search of the address, brought up Simon Carrington was the brother of the Right Honourable Charles Carrington, who was a former Conservative MP and had been a Parliamentary Under Secretary in the Ministry of Defense in the 1980's and now a Director on the Boards of several Security companies including three multinationals. Suppressing the urge to ask for seconds, Fox got back to the task in hand. "This is just a basic check-up, Alex has been off the radar for a while and could he come in for a formal interview to clear up a few details for our files."

Alex put down his cutlery dramatically and took a sip of water, being angry would not do him or Simon any favours. "I'll answer your questions here and now, or not answer them with a lawyer present at your offices at my convenience. I was never officially an agent, I had no contract nor was I ever reimbursed for my labour, injuries and long term ill health. In fact my only legal dealings with your employers is the matter of my uncle's and parent's bequest. So, I take it, when I answer your questions that the bank release all they hold in trust in my name in full."

Of all the things for Alex to demand or bargain with, being a hard, level headed and absolutely resolute was not what Fox expected, when the file from the psych profilers suggested the ex-teen agent would be emotionally distraught at best, would run again or confrontation would trigger another phase of self-harm. The field agent had seen the details of the surveillance crew, Alex was settled here. The young man had obviously cooked the supper from the oil stain on his trousers and the fact he had served up. The scene in the kitchen was of the comfortable domesticity of an established cohabiting couple. "You seem to have me a an impasse as I cannot promise anything and I will have to report to the office that you have concerns over your uncle's estate and also reassure all at the bank that you are fine and in full possession of your mental facilities. I would recommend you come to the office tooled up with legal representation and give dear old Tulip a hard time."

"Ask your stupid questions, I have Simon here to act as intermediary. I trust him with everything." There should be no reason for any follow ups, Alex knew he was not a security risk, living a very normal life in this London suburb. His life a million miles from Fox's and he was sure running at 18 had possibly been the most sensible thing to do to escape the pull of a life in espionage.

Fox had his recorded interview, already under review at headquarters. The questions answered over coffee and homemade shortbread. Only a couple of time had Simon Carrington intervened and stated the questions were too personal and impinged on Alex's Human Rights. The MI6 agent smiled, "I can see no reason for any further surveillance and I will mark any follow up as extremely low profile. Thanks for the grub. What can I say, you are a lucky man Simon. I wish I had someone at home who could cook half as good as Alex. I think I need to put in for reassignment and return to real life and start dating again. See you round, Cub."

…

John Crawley read through his top agents assessment of the boy that got away. Against all odds, Alex was a functioning member of society, happy and settled and had lived in the capital for six years without drawing attention to himself. The fact was in five months time, the full amount in trust would be released to Alex, as their was nonlegal or medical reason to withhold it anymore. John Rider's son was a rich young man as a result of both his parents and his uncle's frugalness and gifts with investing their hard earned money. The acting Head of Special Operations at MI6 would have a long chat with his friend Tulip, to let sleeping dogs lie.

…..

After four glasses of wine and a quick and brutal wanking session, Alex was finally relaxed, sprawled on the sofa and happy to listen to some jazz CD, Si had put on rather than bother with the television. Si refilled their glasses and sat to cuddle. Alex moved closer, seeking more contact, reassurance of their love. After ten minutes of a heavy, snogging session, Alex smiled. "I'm knackered and I'm so glad theirs no work or college tomorrow. What do you have on?"

"A meeting with Donald in late afternoon. You could come with me." Si guessed Alex was feeling needy and clingy, "So, lunch out and a morning in bed. I too, am very drained after meeting Mr. Fox." Si would wait to bring up his concerns over any future dealings with SIS's dirty trick department or the fact they had control of money that was rightfully Alex's. A trip to his lawyers would be best kept as a threat and only used if absolutely necessary.


	25. Chapter 25

Alex was still lying in bed at 11:30 the next morning. Tuesdays were now free as his three four week long courses were completed and only his two ten week courses now continued on Mondays and Thursdays, both finishing at Christmas. The twenty four year old handyman-barman-roofer looked at the ceiling and wondered at the can of worms he'd opened up by emailing Joe. There was a good chance James Sprintz would turn up at some point. The blond then stretched and lost himself in the memories of the German-English fourteen year old with sharp, caustic wit.

Simon returned to his bedroom and was tempted to forget about lunch and return to the warmth under the duvet and the loving arms of his beautiful companion. "Come on! Get up and get dressed, lazybones. I ordered a picnic from Luigi's. I thought we could have a few hours at the studio, before my meeting in Camden."

Alex could almost laugh, only Simon would order a picnic from an upmarket delicatessen, rather than make up salads and sandwiches himself from the odds and ends in the fridge and larder downstairs. The great artist had wanted to photograph his lover for months and his would-be model had finally acquiesced. The images to be taken using proper film and this evening the pair of them would use the small darkroom next to the kitchen to develop the negatives and print off the test strips. Finally leaving the comfort of the bed, Alex stood, naked as a new born baby and flexed his muscles, smirking at the fact his lover was appreciating the display. This afternoon Alex would allow Simon Carrington to photograph him. The older artist had still to convince Alex that he was beautiful despite of, or as the photographer insisted that all of his lover was wonderful, his awful scars.

…..

Any person who survived an assassination attempt should do all in their power to avoid repetition or the complacency of routine. Edward Pleasure still needed a cane to walk ten years after he nearly lost his life on the orders of Damian Cray. Even so, every trip back to London saw him meet up with the few journalists, copywriters and authors he had worked with or studied with. Wednesday nights at the Princess Louise had been his regular haunt back in the days when he wrote for the Guardian, the Observer, the Standard and the Spectator. Evenings spent discussing politics, family, the job and sport over pints of cask bitter. He was back in London for two weeks. Tonight, Liz was off seeing some art installation with Sabina and he got to drink four or five pints of beer and later meet his family for a curry. A decent pint and a proper jalfrezi were the two things he missed most in the States.

Already sat down in his usual spot was Jon Davison, sports editor now at the Standard. Edward had shared digs with him at Oxford. The first round slipped down like nectar. Jon slipped off to the mens and Edward rubbed his knee and began his usual set of exercises before putting weight on his gammy leg. As if my magic two pints were placed on the table, the journalist looked up to see who was joining them.

The tall blond haired man stood sipping a glass of coke before shaking his head and sneering "Drink up, dad. Thought I buy you a pint and tell you routine gets you killed. Every time you come back to London mid week, here you are. Did barely surviving Yassen's nice bomb not teach you anything?"

Edward sat and stared before blurting out in confusion, "Alex?"

"Yeah, well. Sorry for being a demon child, but you should never have played nice with Ms. Jones. I hate that bitch, big time." The young man then fidgeted, in the prolonged staring match between himself and the only man who had acted as dad to him. Alex had discounted the remote possibility of Alexei Sarov being a father figure long before the man shot himself.

"You called me dad. Am I? Are you finally able to accept us as family?" Edward broke into a smile as Alex gave the briefest of nods. "Sit down then. We have nearly six years to catch up on.

…..

The paparazzi at Heathrow took pictures at Arrivals of the A, B to Z list celebrities. Todd Brotherton had photographed the great and the good as well as the mediocre and the infamous. This morning, Cassian James and Paul Roscoe arrived on the same flight from JFK. The billionaire MD of the electronics and media empire was holding hands with his supermodel fiancee and deep in conversation with the world renown DJ, arranger and producer ignoring the fact pictures would be posted online and in the gutter press.

At extremely short notice, prompted by the email from Joe Canterbury, an alumni get together had been organised. All seven to meet at the Dog and Duck at 8pm on Friday night.

….

Tulip Jones pursed her lips and was tempted to crunch down hard on the clear mint in her mouth. She poured herself a glass of water to sip and then she read the field report from Ben Daniels. The office on the fourteenth floor at Liverpool Street was in the centre of the building, the blinds drawn on the bullet proof, plexiglass. Her desk faced the office door. The report had been filed and the conclusions agreed before she had returned from her holiday.

The boy who had been trained for espionage work from the cradle by Ian Rider and with full knowledge of Alan Blunt. As a man with ingrained instincts, she knew Alex would never revealed everything to anybody without good reason. She knew Alex had stopped being a child long before his short defection to Scorpia and that moment he failed to shoot her on the orders of Julia Rothman. That young man was still playing the great game, only on his terms. The fact he was living with a man just proved how fluid his personality was, that he could mould himself to any situation and not just survive but make all who met him believe that this was the real Alex Rider. The ex-operative at fourteen had decided MI6 were the enemy. Alex had outplayed her and she knew it; he had surfaced before his twenty-fifth birthday and more importantly before he could be declared legally dead. As a man in a stable, if unorthodox relationship, at college and in legal employment, he could not be classed as a danger to himself or society and that fact would ensure every penny held in trust would be released to him. The house in Chelsea was now worth nearly seven million pounds alone and the investment funds had also grown ensuring a substantial income over the years.

She had ordered a detailed background check by one of the interns and Alex was paying tax, an accountant sorted through years of low earnings in menial jobs. The young man had also recently taken his Part Two bike test, passing with no trouble. Not a single indication of any illegal activity or any contact with other agencies or terrorists. The woman knew the boy had avoided all medical help, until the intervention of this boyfriend. She neither had the resources nor the man power to watch over Alex, but she ordered the low level surveillance on his emails, mobile and any official contacts to continue.

She noted the arrival of two Point Blanc survivors in the capital today. Was it a coincidence that Liz and Edward Pleasure were also in London? Tulip Jones did not believe in coincidences, accidental occurrences or deja vu. She was worried as Dieter Sprintz was no friend of MI6 and Paul Roscoe had enough money to fund an army or every assassin on the planet.


	26. Chapter 26

Alex had arrived early for his Friday shift and made note of the team of audio engineers setting up a full rig in the bar. He shook his head and complained to Neil "God, Karaoke was a thing I thought I left behind in California. My foster sister Sabina loves singing. She, the persuasive minx that she is, even got me to murder a few songs." Alex thought karaoke was the devil's own invention. Forced to listen to bad timing, out of tune and some indescribably bad attempts at singing. There was a chance one of his bosses would suggest he sing as well. Neil would make sure the volume never too loud to drown out conversation and all the serious drinkers stayed by the bar anyway.

"It's entertainment for a special party, all arranged last minute. I can't complain they paid up front for a fully catered buffet and a large running tab on the bar, champagne all the way. There's five extra staff to cover tonight as well." Neil hoped he was being general enough not to give the game away about this special school reunion. To think their Alex had gone to such an exclusive boarding school with the sons of several notable billionaires. At eight was the big reveal, friends, family and workmates had been tracked down and invited.

Alex frowned, he could bet it was a hen do. The pub seemed to be averaging one a weekend over the summer. Rowdy and raucous drunk girls trying to chat up the gay barmen and clientele. All harmless flirting for all concerned.

As he went to make sure there was plenty of ice stored for wine buckets, which was the first item of thirty on the checklist Neil had handed him. The boss himself was busy going through service requirements, the running tab and the location of everything with the agency staff. In the cellar he pondered on the cryptic email he'd received from Joe, 'See you this weekend, Spooky, Book a table for lunch at your pub on Sunday. Must meet your Si. Only in London for a few hours. Flight to Bali at 10 on Monday morning'. Sounded like he had hastily arranged a stopover, just to catch up with his old school chum. Only it had been a prison and not a school. He shuddered at the thought of that awful place and how all the kids had suffered. He'd been there the shortest, but it still completely creeped him out. Maybe it was the fact that Julius had been such a sick and vicious bastard. Alone with the hum of the large catering freezers and the odd gurgles from the barrels of beer, Alex choked back a sob, placing his hand over his mouth to keep from alerting anyone to his sudden emotional breakdown. Some things you never get over, his grief for Jack still lanced like pure agony that no amount of talking or psychoanalysis could cure. He wished he could have called her mom and that it had meant that. Only he never committed to being family. He had been emotionally crippled by the boxes Ian and later Blunt had forced him to accept as a child. He was stuck trying to rationalise what the fuck Si saw in him, he was broken. The man that stood here was a facsimile of the millions of shattered fragments left after MI6 had finished with him.

With the inner strength he had learned from his sensei's, he calmed his breathing, ordered his thoughts to the job at hand and stomped down on his hurt, putting that to the back of his mind. The katas were more than physical discipline. Karate had saved him from death many times, but also from insanity, stopping the darkness consuming him as he could stay in the present and keep going. It had helped him survive when he had no hope left. Now, he had home, friends and family again. The past horrific in places, but he had to remind himself of the good things not the bad. The present was good and he had to keep himself concentrating on that. The future, well a house could fall on him tomorrow, because fate was a bitch. Maybe he should be more like the ancients and leave offerings to Tyche. That was something to discuss with Stella when he next saw her.

…

By six, Alex had finished his checklist and was glad to get back to the bar and do some proper work. There was quite a large area roped off for this party, Neil must be making big bucks tonight, the wine fridge in the catering kitchen was full of Crystal Champagne as well as the catering firm busy setting up to feed the five thousand. Alex then asked "Is it some one famous?"

Alex's boss pondered that question a moment, before not quite answering the question directly. "Not really, if you know the music business well, you might have heard of them. Producer of two, no three hit records and done a film soundtrack, that sort of thing. I don't think its an official launch or anything, just a private party. They wanted somewhere the paparazzi did not frequent. Wandsworth Common isn't exactly the West End. Then again Clapham is the new Chelsea. Hip and Happening." Neil then sighed, "We have bouncers on tonight. The bar is now covered. I think you and I can go have a cup of tea upstairs before this place gets manic. I doubt Craig will join us. Once he's in the kitchen working, he won't stop until the last tray is served to his exacting requirements. He has hired in other chefs so he'll be all Gordon Ramsay on them."

Neil had sat for about a minute before he was called downstairs again. Alex pulled out his brand new iPhone and emailed Si and then Joe. He was in a rum mood. Melancholy and reflective, he guessed Neil had picked up on the fact he was acting a bit weird. He really did not like change and the pub was full of strangers. It made his skin crawl. It was oh so tempting to make a second cup and stretch his break out for another ten minutes, but he went downstairs to get back into the thick of it.

…

At seven thirty, the fact the party had not started meant Alex was sipping a glass of water leaning against the back of the bar, trying not to think about the possibility of being forced to sing. Then he spotted Lee and Christian ordering pints off Gareth, the chatty welsh temp. Alex went over to converse with his ex-flatmates. Normally at this time on a Friday the place would just be starting to get busy.

Lee was looking at the speakers at the back. "Nice set up for karaoke . Decent kit. Had a go yet, Alex?"

"No, I'm waiting for Neil to order me or someone to double dare me." Alex would never admit that Sabina had resorted to good natured double dares, as only a sister can. "I don't drink on the job, so its not a case of getting blotto and just embarrassing myself."

"Double dare sounds a bit dangerous." Christian thought about the repercussions, as Alex never seemed to do anything overly dangerous or outside his comfort zone.

"Speciality from my teen years, hence getting arrested twice. Luckily never charged. Ran away twice as well. Well, thats what you get for nine foster placements in 15 months." Alex liked to describe the legends as failed family placements… he'd been Felix Lester, then Alex Friend, Alex Gardiner, Alex Sarov, briefly thought of as Paul Drevin, then Abdul Hassan, then kidnapped and called Jonathan, Alex Brenner in Cairo, before back to plain old Alex Rider, foster son of Edward and Liz Pleasure. "Then again, if I sing first. I don't have to do it again; no matter what kind of bribery or emotional blackmail you guys try to use."

With that Alex strode up and went through the selection process. There were a lot to choose from. He was looking for one of Jack's favourite songs to sing when she had a broken heart and was thoroughly miserable. He'd even sung along with her a few times, it always reminded him of Jack the soppy romantic. It was hard to think of the fact she'd been 19 years older than him. Already finished her Masters Degree when she started working for Ian. She had been one of those people that never seemed old. With practically an empty bar, Alex did not have to sing a happy or upbeat song, just one to fit his mood. It was a good karaoke song anyway, a thoroughly soppy ballad.

With his deep clear voice Alex started to sing, closing his eyes to pretend there was no one overhearing his pathetic attempts to mimic Justin Hayward. "_The summer sun is fading as the year grows old_…"

As he finished he thought back to the real reason for his complete breakdown in San Francisco. When packing up the house in Chelsea, before leaving London he had opened a letter Jack had written and not given him. She had already decided to leave him to go back to Baltimore. The trip to Cairo was not an attempt from her to strengthen their relationship but a last hurrah before giving up on him, leaving him to god knows what. He had built his normal life based on her and his home in Chelsea. He had been devastated by her death, but the reality was she had already decided to leave him.

He could hear clapping, not half hearted get off the stage pronto slow pathetic curtain call, but a crowd in full on applause . He opened his eyes to see Simon, Neil, Christian, Lee and Craig and the newly arrived party group. He slowly recognised James Sprintz, his father Dieter, then Cassian, Hugo, Joe, Tom, Nicholas, Paul and Dimitry. At the back were Edward, Liz and Sabina. Paul Roscoe lifted up his glass of Champagne and spoke in a loud clear voice. "The belated 10th anniversary reunion of the Point Blanc Academy Class of 2001 is now in session. Someone for god's sake give our guest of honour and class president a glass of bubbly. Shit Alex, you can sing. I thought Sabina was pulling our leg when she said karaoke was one of the few times you opened up about all the crap you survived."


	27. Chapter 27

Neil knew Alex well enough to save his barman from the demon drink and the guest of honour was served Sparking Elderflower rather than the proper French stuff. Tonight of all nights Alex wanted to remember and enjoy his friends, and imbibing several glasses of champagne would only make him seriously melancholy. He would end the night with a glass or two for the toasts to life, love and the future. After the hugs, reintroductions and meet and greet of partners, girlfriends, friends and family, the crowd descended on the buffet. Alex ate a plate of Craig's superb food from the groaning buffet table and talked to all the other survivors of Mrs. Stomachbag's hospitality and learned that each still had issues of various kinds over nearly being erased from history and replaced by a Grief clone.

The real powerhouses behind the Alumni were the two close friends Joe Canterbury and Paul Roscoe, the pair had gone to school and college together. The billionaire providing funding for the website, meetings and parties. Making sure the seven boys remained close. Alex had always been the odd one out, a cuckoo at that school, the one that had left everything behind.

The orphaned son of Michael Roscoe had gained control of billions at 21 and had decided, not for an easy ride living on the legacy, but to work making his father's company strong and to diversify for changing markets in the 21st century. The young businessman had tracked down and maintained a correspondence with the Pleasures and Derek Smithers, in an effort to find the elusive Alex Rider. Having cornered the missing classmate and Paul seemed happy to talk ten to the dozen and Alex was more than happy to listen. "I think of my father's legacy as a double edged sword, I am comfortable because of the money, but I and those I love will always be targets as well." Paul paused to finish eating the slice of game pie on his plate. "I stuck out boarding school, summer camps and college to keep my mother off my back. I think Dima also has had a difficult road. He became driven to follow his dad's footsteps as well, or maybe just yours. He's a spook now. He's supposedly a diplomatic aide for the Russian Delegation at the UN. FSB more likely, striving to be the man his father wanted. He's the quietest of all of us, we all went to his 21st birthday party in Moscow. You missed one hell of a weekend, I think we almost drank the hotel dry. Five months for seven parties that year. Now, we have six years of birthday and christmases to catch up on with you." As the waiter passed, the tall american with reddish blond short hair and god like good looks, swapped his dirty plate and empty glass for a refill. "We are brothers, Alex. Like Spartans, family born in adversity not from the mere chance of biology. What I have is at your disposal. You lost as much as me because of Grief and his abominations. I will always regret that I did not insist you attended the same school as Joe and I. We alumni have been our own support network, even if we're chalk and cheese. The pair of us the vegan political activist and the majority shareholder of a multinational, who adores hunting. Then again aren't we all completely different. None of us, in all the wild theories we dreamt up about you, would have foreseen you settling down with an older guy as wifey." After a sip of the cool golden liquid, Paul continued, "and getting your partnership legalised next year. You'll be the first of all of us to get hitched. Chloe will want a diamond on her finger now. My plan was to ask her New Years Eve anyway. She wants a houseful of kids, to write cookbooks and forget about her size 4 figure. She'll look even better with boobs and an ass. We are planning to grow old together. You gonna take Simon's name, because Rider-Carrington has a cool ring to it. Don't you think?"

Alex sat and pondered that for a moment, the whole world of civil partnerships was the same but different from marriage and normal wedding etiquette did not apply, but the thought of changing his name to proclaim his change of status was strangely fitting. Not that he liked being called wifey He would no longer be tied to the Rider legacy but starting a new family with Simon being the centre of his universe. "I like that too. Would you take Chloe's name?".

"Its not unheard of, but Velazquez-Roscoe or Roscoe-Velazquez is a bit of a mouthful. In the long run I will do whatever Chloe wants. Simon's a great guy, we met up with him before we came here. He showed us some photos from 2005. You were so thin, I thought your problems with anorexia had been sorted after your forced imprisonment in that clinic."

"After I left St. Brendan's I'd had a tough few weeks getting my bearings on the streets. I had to get over being fussy over food. It came down to start eating whatever was available and to forget being a control freak. Most of the time you get no choice, but I was pretty bad before my instinct just to eat to survive kicked in. That was the first thing I got over, all my control over what, how much and when I ate. You have to be really hungry and desperate to appreciate a decent plate of food. It wasn't until I rented a room of Edna that I learned to cook, about nutrition and that cheap food can be good food. So I now need to talk to your beautiful girlfriend about her love of cooking. We can swap recipes."

Si watched his love chat, listen and nibble on food, three plates. Alex talking to his old friends, to his family. A crowd of people the photographer had talked to met and become fast friends with this week. The door opened at 9:30 and Stella bustled in with her current beau, David the Professor of French Literature who had seriously wooed the older and initially very uninterested Professor of Classics.

All had gathered to reassure Alex he was't alone.

…

At 11:30, Alex was sat at the bar, very tempted to throw something heavy to get Christian to stop singing. Paul must be psychic, because he switched off the offending vocals to make an announcement. In a bad impression of a very upperclass English accent, the New Yorker garbled "OK, chaps, ladies and gentlemen, come to order and stand to attention. I have a very important secret to break…. we have cake!"

Craig then wheeled out the grey and white slab of artistic confection, a miniature of Point Blanc itself. James then piped up. "Authentic in every detail including bad guys on jet-skis, Alex snowboarding on a ironing board and SAS men hidden in the woods. All are edible, but Sabina has already begged to keep little Lexie for her own, as the real one is oh so very not into girls. Come on Lex, get up here and cut your cake. A bit late for your 21st, but better late than never." The waiters then circulated with trays loaded with glasses of bubbly, sparkling elderflower and orange juice.

Inside the cake was red velvet with oozing dark chocolate frosting, like a vision from a horror movie. It was as Alex ate the first slice he noted Si was at work, recording this event for posterity.

"So, as a very merry un-21st birthday party, I want to thank everyone for disturbing my night at work three years and eight months late. Its been great to eat so much fantastic food and yes Craig I need to know how to cook that game pie. So everyone, gorge yourself on cake. James has already stolen the vast and ugly sugar Miss Stomach bag and is going to demonstrate her demise to all using a dozen sachets of ketchup for visual effects. This night is not for me.. but for all of us imprisoned, threatened and brutalised at that school. To us and not our evil twins, may they all rot in prison or in Julius' case in hell. Cheers."


	28. Chapter 28

Alex was dreaming of doppelgängers, an evil Si and a cruel and malicious Sabina intent on live vivisection, rather than the creepy facsimiles of teenage pupils. Alex woke abruptly and saw it was only 6:26 AM. Si was laying flat on his back snoring. Both men were still fully clothed having crashed after getting home at 2AM after a truly excellent shut-in at the pub. Alex lay in the morning light and blamed his nightmare on eating two more slices of cake. He got up and was not surprised when he queasy as he had eaten far too much last night.

After brushing his teeth, furry from the day before and rinsing his mouth with water, he decided to shower. He stank something awful.

He stood in the cascade of warm water and washed away the lingering smells of the party. It was proving to be the strangest gathering of friends in his entire life. Paul had paid for agency staff to cover Alex's job for the entire weekend, so he could continue to celebrate with his ex-classmates. He washed his hair to get out the smell of smoke as Si, Cass, Dieter, Edward and Paul had lit up huge Havana cigars after the cake had been demolished. Alex then wondered if Si had been a smoker in the past. His boyfriend had really savoured the hand rolled luxury tobacco. Apart from an occasional drag on a joint in San Francisco, Alex had never seen the lure of tobacco, not when hard earned cash was better spent elsewhere. As he towelled himself dry, his thoughts still lingering on his nightmare as the shadow of the clones still creeped him out. He re-entered the bedroom and smiled at the vision of his sleeping life-partner. He could not imagine life without Si now. The comfort of not being alone when he woke was usually all he needed to shake of the lingering horrors office past. That was the difference from old 'disfunctional' Alex to his present day self. Si and his house was his home. He had not really ever felt like he truly belonged anywhere before. During his childhood he had always been an outsider, never really fitting in as he'd been dragged around Europe with Ian and Jack, never having a family as Ian was never 'uncle' or 'dad'.

He took a deep breath, he could smell the acrid odour of stale tobacco coming off Sleeping Beauty, which put him off climbing back into bed. He silently made his way downstairs to the kitchen for tea and toast. Sustenance to prepare him for a day of sight seeing, rich food, fine wine and excess.

…

With the sounds of happy chatter in the garden, James Sprintz observed his first close friend from inside the kitchen. For the past six years he had often wondered whether he had missed warning signs and could have stopped Alex disappearing. Even after his friend had returned to London in 2004, he had assumed the witty and sarcastic emails meant the ex-spy had bounced back from the crushing grief and depression. The man in question now sported a bright smile and only had eyes for the man at his side. Through the open patio door to the garden, the dark haired twenty-five year old noticed the subtle touches and body language showing intimacy and closeness between the two men. He for one had never guessed Alex had been attracted to the same sex.

Sabina walked into the kitchen after a brief visit to powder her nose. "Doesn't he look happy… I never thought I'd live to see the day Alex was completely relaxed or even settled. He was so uptight in April. Now, he's planning his civil ceremony. Its so romantic and well, Si is just so there. Alex needs someone like that."

James decided to ask Alex's foster sister the million dollar question "Did you always know he was gay?"

The dark haired young journalist laughed "I guessed he was bi at school, not that he dated anyone. He had a serious crush on Tom Harris' brother. Mind you Jerry Harris is a total Adonis, you should check out his website. Alex has a thing for older partners as well."

"Right, well I can't talk. I've only started dating seriously in the last year. I think Stellenbosch and those clones seriously fucked all of us up at that school. Paul was the first of all of us to settle down. I give it two years max and he'll be a dad."

"Is that an official bet between you guys then?"

…

Alex knew there was a mountain of clearing up to do after Sabina said her goodbyes. All had left at a respectable hour as they either had work or flight plans for the morning. Si had already gone upstairs to have a long soak in the bath. As he went to start tidying, he noted James was still sat in the kitchen nursing a beer.

"Hey, Jamie. Didn't your dad leave two hours ago?"

"Yeah, I think all the partying got to him. Needed to go lie down. Hasn't it been brilliant to catch up with the guys?"

"Yeah it has." Alex could read that his one time close friend was obviously nervous.

"Lex, I feel like I let you down. Three days before you disappeared we had that long phone conversation and you had talked of going to France to track down where your Mum and Dad were planning to settle in Brittany. Then nothing, after you walked out of your bedsit. My dad and the Pleasures paid for Private Investigators, but you moved often. Then Si tell us, you met that March in Soho. Were you really just stealing?"

"Yeah, but I never hustled. I still have issues over my body image. Si was my first boyfriend. Not that I had dating anyone for three years. I let a good woman slip through my fingers and everyone I dated after her did not come close to Bea."

"Oh…Got your heart broken?"

"No, neither of us were ready for commitment at that point. It was beautiful and brief. I guess I'm a weird monogamous type of guy. I like flirting, but belonging and having a home beats anything I had before. You have nothing to blame yourself for, I needed my space to get better. Its been a journey, but its been one I had to travel to get my head together. I might have met Si in 2005, but I was nowhere near sane enough to date him then."

Silence settled over the pair as the guest finished his beer. Jamie looked at the plates, bottles, glasses and bowls littering the surfaces. "I'll help you clear up shall I, wifey?"

"Quit the comments about my role in this relationship. Si does his share. His speciality is breakfast in bed. He really spoils me."

James rubbed the back of his neck, "Look I get you're no girl. I think you're good together. Lucky bastards in fact. I still need to get the hang of the whole deal over commitment and cohabiting. Took me long enough just to move out. Dad still rings me three or four times a day and I only live twenty minutes down the road."

"One step at a time, Jamie. If you're like me, you give up on love and then it happens when you're not looking. Well, sort of anyway. I would never say anything to do with my life was perfect. Si has had a bumpy love life as well. His ex was a complete bitch with a capital B."


	29. Chapter 29

Brendan Shaw was again wondered about his work partner. The no nonsense supervisor seemed to defy all conventions and was a complete contradiction for someone working in the construction industry. Adopted into the close knit Murphy family, who treated this London street kid a surrogate son. Alex told scary and heart breaking tales from his time on the streets and hinted at an even worse childhood.

This lunch break and the blond was talking on his mobile to Sorcha Murphy, deep in discussion about wedding plans.

"I can't go on your hen night, Sorcha. That's strictly not cricket. Best thing to do is a compromise and have a joint hen/stag do, then everyone can come and forget gender divisions. You'll have to talk to Sabina, who I think is organising mine. Easier for me because this whole 'civil partnership' is a blank slate where traditions come in. We get to pick and choose all the best bits. You know party, cake and a really simple promises to each other. None of that honour or obey bollocks."

The pair were BFFs, both engaged; which brought up the fact that tall, handsome, tough as old boots and hard as nails Alex batted for the other team. Then again the youngster was no promiscuous party animal, but twenty-four in a committed relationship and already settling down. The Dubliner was pushing thirty-three and had a string of broken relationships and a reputation for being a love rat. He was still reeling from his last girlfriend, who had been far too eager. He still wanted fun, to live a bit and sow wild oats. Milly had seen him as husband material and still clung to the unreal fantasy of suburban married bliss. He had backed away fast as he could when faced with that future.

Alex sighed as he put his phone on the van's dash. "Sorry about that. You know how Sorcha is. Planning everything to the minutest detail and Da will grant her every bridezilla wish. She is going to freak when she finds out Sab's taking me and all my mates out for a curry night. No clubs, no strippers and no stupid dressing up."

"Going out for a curry sounds ideal. Dermot's stag was games of pool and darts as much Guinness as you could handle. God, I got plastered. It was brilliant. You know you are the first person I know getting one of these new partnerships. Should have just called it marriage, cause thats what it is. You both wearing suits then or going more casual?"

"No morning suits, just normal smart casual. Did you see that Paul posted a mock up of me in a freaking white wedding dress on the office notice board. Its hilarious. Full white crinoline Barbie princess with my face stuck on." Alex then tucked into his lunch. A full tupperware of pasta salad. No pies, bacon butties or fry's for this roofer. Unlike Brendan's standard lunch of sausage rolls and packets of salt and vinegar crisps.

"Only the pointing to finish here, then we can get over to yard to get everything sorted for the Hounslow job."

Alex looked at the drive and the semi they were working on. "I'll do that. You get the driveway cleared as the scaffolder's are coming at three. Talk about getting us to finish on time."

"This old chap has been a hard task master and got the quote beaten down to almost cost. Used to work on the roads with Da in the good old days."

"Mr. Conway reminds me of a drill sergeant I used to know." Alex mused on the seventy year old who had watched them like hawks.

"You were in the army?"

"Lasted two weeks. Never been back to Wales since."

….

The sounds were muffled, the only thing he was sure of was pain, intense throbbing bordering on agony from his left ankle, the start stabs from bruised or cracked ribs and a splitting headache at the back of his head. He could feel a clip on one of his fingers, but he could flex his digits and move his hands. He was aware that someone had removed his shirt, helmet, boots and socks. He felt cold despite the warm room. There was something hard in his mouth pressing against his tongue. His neck was being held rigid, he could not move his head. All his reactions were sluggish, the only thing he could think of was that he'd been drugged. It seemed to take an age to try and open his eyes.

The glare of the bright white room which made Alex close them again quickly, the space around him was full of people. Then a stranger spoke in clear tones "Alex, open your eyes again. You're at St George's Hospital, in the Emergency Department. My name is Sam, I'm a trauma consultant. You had an accident today."

The consultant then started ordering the nurses and doctors to reassess the patient. Alex opened his eyes and squinted. The hard tube in his mouth was replaced by a mask. "Alex, you have here to be assessed. You have been unconscious for nearly an hour. Can you tell me full name, Date of Birth and what day it is today?"

"Alexander John Rider, call me Alex. Thirteenth of February 1987. Its Thursday April 19th 2012. I work for Murphy's. Last thing I remember was finishing the repair on Mr. Conway's chimney on Vant Road, Tooting. I was unhooking the safety line and was talking to Desmin. He was on the ground holding the ladder steady. Is he in here as well?"

"Your work colleague came in with you in the ambulance, he just had a few scratches, bruises and is waiting to be assessed by one of the nurses." The constant looked at the two police officers who had come to interview the critically injured roofer.

Alex knew something major must have happened, but the work area had been secured. The gate into the driveway had been shut and a cone and tape barrier at the base of the ladder. Here he was laid flat with a neck brace and blocks in place to protect his spine. Three months back working for Murphy's and he was in hospital. He knew he had a concussion and had from the pain radiating from his left ankle, he guessed he had buggered his good leg.

Alex stared at the ceiling as a team of people talked and fussed, he concentrated on the sound of his own heart beat, using it to take slow deep breaths; trying to take his mind off the pain. He was tempted to drift off as being asleep would take the edge off the deep throb from his immobilised leg. Had he fallen off the ladder or the roof?. All he knew it must be bad to have this number of medical professionals this worked up.

Alex thought about his past adventures had left scars and the long lasting affects of major surgery, "I have an existing medical condition. I had a repair on my sub Carotid Artery after a haemorrhage in 2001" Alex swallowed, leaving out the details of surviving a profession assassin. "I have a check up booked next month with Consultant Roger Hayward at 222 Harley Street. He did my original surgery at St. Dominic's. Something to do with maybe needing a redo of the patch on the artery, just keyhole surgery not cracking my chest open like last time."

Alex saw the flicker of apprehension on the doctor's furrowed brows and the information changed the target of the medical teams. Cold gel was administered and the ultrasound scanner moved over his chest. "There's the leak. Small, but that explains why the Blood pressure is dropping". Three doctor's were staring at the strange images on the scanner. Alex closed his eyes as the experts discussed the need for surgery immediately rather than a CT scan to access his other injuries. In seven weeks, the Registry Office at Wandsworth Town Hall was booked for his and Si's Civil Ceremony. With one stupid slip up, Alex had kiboshed his whole future. Tears leaked out of his eyes, with gritted teeth and balled fists; Alex gave in to the maelstrom of emotion. A wave of pain radiated from his sore head as his heart rate jumped. Alex gasped and could not concentrate as the anaesthetist started preparing him for major surgery.

The PC noted down all the patient had said to the doctors. "Sounds like he has no memory of the incident."

The older policeman had been the first to the scene was an old hand at violent incidents. "The woman already confessed, she was trying to kill her ex-boyfriend. Thinking he was on the roof when she drove into that ladder. Poor kid. Sounds like its really serious if they're taking him straight to surgery. Crazy bitch will be sent down, mark my words. Just pray its for attempted murder."


	30. Chapter 30

The villa booked for the shoot was luxurious, Si could hear the laughter of the models as they relaxed by the pool. He was still sorting through the several hundred images taken over the four separate shoots today in various locations on this tropical paradise. All for some adverts for beachwear. He did not relax when working, until everything was in the bag. Two more long days and one night shoot until he could drink and party. He kept his contact home to texts and phone calls when he was falling into bed at 1-2AM local time. Myra, his lighting assistant, coughed softly to gain his attention.

Si scowled at the disruption and held up his finger as he saved the images to backup first.

"Sorry, Si. There's a guy from the British Embassy here. Says its urgent,"

….

Si arrived back from the Caribbean via his connection in New York, which had turned out to be the longest journey of his life. London Heathrow Terminal Three Arrivals was oddly welcoming to this seasoned traveller. Now, the tedium of getting his luggage, passport control, clearing customs and then the long taxi ride to Wandsworth. He had exited the plane at the gate when he switched on his phone to call Sabina.

The two stewards waving off the passengers heard the snippets of fraught conversation.

"How is he? Still in ICU?"

"A broken neck! Is he paralysed?"

"That at least is good news. So, his head injury is OK, no bleeding on the brain?"

"You have not told me about his heart? You told me the surgery went OK in New York."

"Right, so how long a convalescence?"

"Err.. I'll be at St. George's by four. Meet you there. Give Alex a kiss from me. I can't thank you and Sorsha enough. You've both been brilliant. Alex is lucky to have such wonderful sisters."

The man stood forlorn and paused for three deep breaths, then strode at full marching pace to the exit.

…

Three weeks in hospital. He was still in constant pain and practically immobile, encased in a stiff neck brace and his left leg now in a brace encasing his foot ankle and lower leg. No crutches yet as he was being wheeled out.

The aches and pains seemed to radiate up his leg and down his spine. He had been oh so very lucky, too lucky. Alex Rider was now way past nine lives. As the car pulled onto Bolingbroke Grove, Alex gripped his lover's hand. Home, he was going home. To wash the smell of hospital off his skin. To let Si wash his hair and shave him. His main plan was then to smell of Si, sex was going to be a challenge, but not impossible. He would beg for cock like the slut he was. God, had he ever been this horny in his life? Not even painkillers and exhaustion were wilting his erection. Two flights of stairs to their bedroom might be the undoing of him, truth be told. Good things come to those who wait and he could be patient. Four long horrible weeks since the last time they had laid together.

In the hall, it was a pile of post and bills and the sight of the answer machine with 46 messages that caught the eye of the home comer. The obvious signs of their planned civil ceremony and work commitments for the photographer, but most were written acceptances of invitations sent out by Alex mere days before his last brush with death.

Si tried to hurry him past the evidence their lives had been on hold for weeks "Don't worry about that. Sorcha has everything sorted as much as it can be. It's all still on, even the honeymoon. I checked with the consultants before you were discharged, the insurance company and the airline. The flight should be fine, especially in Business Class. Room to stretch out even with your leg and neck brace."

Alex tried not to think of the fact he could no longer swim, dive or surf; not with the months of rehabilitation needed considering his damaged artery and metalwork in his neck and leg. First, he had to negotiate getting upstairs. Either on his bum or hopping on his good leg while gripping the hand rail. All things considered it would be less jarring one step at a time going backwards sat down.

In the en-suite, a tired and no longer sweaty invalid leaned over the edge of the bath as warm water wet his scalp and his wonderful carer washed his blond hair after sponging his body clean. He was wrapped in a soft bath sheet, which smelt of their detergent. Last would be the shave, then Alex would feel more like himself.

Naked on clean cotton sheets, Si covered him with the duvet. "Have a nap, angel. You can barely keep your eyes open." With a kiss, Alex did exactly as he was told.

It was still light when he woke and Si was sat on the armchair by the window, the one normally covered in clothes, on his laptop catching up on work. Alex managed to prop himself up by pulling himself up using the headboard. Then, he took a long drink from the bottle of water on the bedside table.

"Si, can I have the crutches, I need a pee." That had been the first hurdle in hospital, progressing from catheter, to urinating in a bottle, to the hobbling across the ward to the facilities, first helped by staff then on his own.

It still felt like he was enduring a marathon for such a simple thing. When he returned, he sat on the bed and pulled out the lube from the drawer. "I have no idea how to manage this, we can try on my side or on my stomach, but you sir are going to roger me good and proper."

…..

Si was stood in the kitchen, heating shop bought Keralan Chicken Soup and warming through a packet flat breads. He hated cooking with a passion, but could just about manage this. He had missed home cooked food and had subsisted on takeaways and sandwiches after returning from the States. He had managed the several shoots lodged in his diary, as Alex had insisted he not dump any clients as he had been out of ICU and not needing Si by his side at for the entirety of allotted visiting hours.

In the past three weeks, Si had met most of Alex's friends, from school friends including a few from the Comprehensive School Alex despised after being bullied, a multitude of others who had been homeless or in squats with him, some gruff soldiers, several diplomats and spooks from MI6.

The doorbell rang, Si was not expecting guests, most happy for their lives returning to normal after weeks gracing the halls of the large teaching hospital in Tooting. The photographer was only wearing a loose pair of jogging bottoms but could not summon up the effort to pull on a top to be decent. He switched off the oven and made his way up to the ground floor.

Tom Harris was stood with a bag of grapes having already missed Alex at St. George's. The ex-soldier had seen plenty of half naked blokes during his years in the British Army, but the old guy who opened the door had hickeys on his neck, bed head and reeked of sex. Alex's very ex-best friend was at a loss for words.

"Yes? I take it from your gift, you are here to see Alex? He's upstairs in bed waiting for his supper."

"I'm Tom… we used to be friends… played football and such when we were kids and lost touch. We met again last year after I was invalided out of the paras."

Si was glad he had not invited the stranger in as he remembered the bitterness of Alex's description of this one time friend and their last interaction. "Ahh.. I remember… you were less than encouraging about Alex's life choices. He's still queer, happily so. Your invitation to our civil ceremony was returned unopened. Why the change of heart?"

"I heard from Jerry about the accident. I wanted to see he was OK and no hard feelings. It just, well he was an easy target when I was really low. I don't expect we'll be best buds again. Well, we have nothing in common really, not anymore. I can come back if its inconvenient."

Si relented as this fellow soldier seemed honest and open under his obvious embarrassment. "Follow me, you have five minutes and no upsetting him."

…

Alex, in his post coital state, was truly content. he was completely there and felt so right. Even after the clean up, he could smell the evidence of their love making. In reality, the civil ceremony was nothing more than an official stamp of approval on a confirmed truth, he was here for as long as Si needed or wanted him. He glanced at the TV, football was on, but muted. Alex picked up his copy of Lonely Planet Australia, but only looked at the pictures. It would definitely be a more sedate trip than he had anticipated, but the thought of spending hours in bed was not an unpleasant one.

Si stood in the doorway and smiled, before entering and straightening the duvet to cover Alex's lower half. "An unexpected guest, beautiful. I'll leave you two to talk. Feel free to chuck him out if he annoys you."

Alex stared at Tom in a proper Mexican Standoff before shrugging as much as the constricting hardware would allow. "So, got over being a homophobic arsehole?"

Tom frowned. "In denial, it happens. I had no clue you were a bit of a fairy."

The invalid laughed "I take it up the arse, Tom. I'm a lot of a fairy. In fact, I was the one in complete denial. Shit I've had loads of girlfriends but none of them are a patch on Si. He is fucking amazing and amazing at fucking." He could see that was one subject Tom wanted to avoid, but here in the bedroom shared by Alex and Si it was unavoidable. "You working?"

"Yeah, part time charity fund raising bag. Your chest? They opened you up again?"

"My artery was leaking after my spill of the roof. Went straight into emergency surgery. Sorted my ankle, neck and head later. Nearly died in the operating theatre, they had to replace my blood volume almost completely, which was freaky when Sab told me."

"Sabina Pleasure?"

"Yeah, she's my best man. Sorcha is my matron of honour. Both complete Fag hags." Alex then decided that he and his one time fried, were just that; in the past. "Its nice of you to check up on me, but Jerry has been in contact regularly. You can get updates from him. I'm on the mend. Civil Ceremony is going ahead only with crutches and possibly in a kilt rather than a suit, considering my leg. Si will be blinged up with his medals. He wants to make a statement. I… won't be. Americans gave me a couple of intelligence stars, got similar ones from the French, Indians and the Russians as well. They all clash horribly. The Russian one is encrusted with diamonds. Way too ostentatious."

"Well, I guess I should be off." No goodbyes or farewells as Tom Harris went back to his chosen life leaving his past where it should be, in that other country.


	31. Chapter 31

"I should be ecstatically happy. I'm getting hitched and Si is wonderful. I know my accident, wasn't an accident, that it wasn't about me. Wrong target. That I'm not the only person on the planet to piss off the wrong people off and I was just unlucky but incredibly lucky at the same time. Everything's OK, on the mend and I'm just paranoid, I feel like it's all going to go wrong again. I'm not that person anymore, I've run enough. I deserve happiness, stability and hope. The big day is drawing closer and I feel on edge. I'm having nightmares, real night terrors again."

There in the living room of Si's house, the therapist was sat listening to his patient. "Have you considered running?"

"In the dark, when I can't get back to sleep. I look at Si and I know he deserves better. I'm so fucked up. I'm still jumping at shadows, still so scared that they'll threaten all this just to get to me. I'm not anyone any agency would use, not after Cairo; but those people are still in positions of power and I'm still a dirty secret. Running is the easy option. I know how to do that. Staying, holding my ground, making a stand for me, that's hard. Only I would run if they threatened Si. I can't lose him. Those people, they treated me like a chess piece. The deaths of my parent's, my uncle and Jack meant nothing to them in the long run. Not even collateral damage to them. Officially Jack and Ian died in a car crash, one caused by bullets to the head and the other by a large amount of plastic explosive. I wish I had gotten proper amnesia, not just those minutes prior to the accident. Remember none of that shit. So, I could believe the fairy stories spun by MI6. Bastards shafted me in California, when my shit school attendance and grades followed me across the Atlantic from Brookland. I was reduced to a troubled teenager with serious mental health issues. All caused by them. I had to deal with it though." Alex exhaled, he needed to be calm, anger resolved nothing. "Si's worried about my insomnia, the fact I'm jumpy. Christ, it is PTSD, isn't it?"

The therapist chuckled and shook his head "You are doing my job for me, but yes my diagnosis is you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I think group therapy would help. Talk to Simon, he's been here. If you need more, there is a group I supervise for ex-servicemen. You need to talk this through and rationalise your responces. You are dealing with this, but it is still affecting you. So, no tablets, no men in white coats, but I will be back next week to talk, OK."

As his session ended, Alex suddenly wanted to see Si to discuss the ramifications of the slippery slope of PTSD, and phoned for a taxi to take him to the studio.

The room seemed to be full to the rafters as Alex hobbled in. It was a big job with seven models, stylists for clothes and hair from the magazine and hired in assistants for lighting and makeup. Everyone seemed to still and stare as the invalid encroached.

"Hi?" Alex said unsure of himself.

Si stopped barking orders and then start to fuss. "You are meant to be resting, trouble."

Alex could feel the beginnings of a panic attack as his breathing increased to compensate for the feeling of being too hot, not getting enough air into his lungs and the fact everyone was looking at him. His attempt to move backwards and to turn around, to get out of the door failed spectacularly as he missed his footing and was only saved from a full face-plant by the narrowness of the hall. With no grace he slid to the floor, as he used his right arm to protect his back from jarring and any further injury.

"Need air" he gasped.

Si moved to help Alex to the floor and in calm tones told him to breath in time to his commands.

Alex then looked at his love and kissed him. "I promise I'm not going to run off. I know I can't run anywhere at the moment, but I hate feeling this way. Stupid fucking PTSD, thought I'd seen the last of that after getting my head shrunk back in 2003. Darren told me to talk to you. Maybe I need group sessions again… Just because of a stupid accident. Its put all my shit back in play. I'm now fucking up your day as well. I just needed to see you. To stop you worrying. Yeah I'm nuts but its expected and all I need is several psych sessions."

The photographer then knew that his worries had been justified, that he had done the right thing in principal by organising the session with Darren, only he should have been at home, only his shoot had over run. "Just another half an hour before I'm done. Owen… help me get Alex into my office so he can lie down. We're off for a curry after. Just the thing a bit of company to cheer you up."

…

During the stopover in Singapore, Alex and Si were staying with old friends of the photographer's. Two days of conversation, discussing everything from art, war, politics to globalisation, rest and good food. Alex had earlier sat and watched cricket and drank cool lemonade, as Si enjoyed G&amp;Ts in this mega city with a thin veneer left from its former close connections to England. The secluded villa was a piece of colonial history, under the ceiling fan and the mosquito nets; Alex lay awake and pondered their planned trip to the Great Barrier Reef. He could possibly snorkel, but diving and surfing was out. He was laid in bed worrying about his two months of holiday. Only it wasn't really a holiday not with regular check ups and physiotherapy already booked for Sydney, Cairns and Alice Springs. Hopefully by the time they got to the outback he'd have enough movement back to do some hiking.

He did not want to fall asleep, but exhaustion caught up with him. Night terrors were now a rare occurrence.

Si woke to the whimpers, as his lover was caught in a memory. "Wake up Alex. Wake up, love." He did not touch his husband, knowing that could provoke a violent reaction.

Alex sat up and gasped in pain from the sudden movement and from the aftermath of horror invading his dreams. "Fuck! Sorry for waking you Si."

"Its nearly dawn and I have that gallery meeting at 9. We could do some early morning sightseeing."

Alex remained still, pondering this reality before deciding "Yeah, I need fresh air." He smiled at the simple fact Si always seemed to know precisely what to do. "So, an early breakfast at Lau Pa Sat?"

"You must have read my mind. Umm Indian or Chinese?"

"Roti, dosa… yeah… coffee is a must. Will Toby and Rick be joining us?"

"I think they might let us have a few hours to ourselves." Simon softly stroked his husband's dark gold hair, which had grown down over his ears, Alex had not been to the barbers since March. "Lets be scruffs and not bother with shaving until we get back to London. See which one of us has the most hipster of beards in four weeks time."

…

Alex was sat at Writer's Bar at Raffles, drinking a G&amp;T not the traditional Singapore Sling. The seat was comfortable and he was fully relaxed. Poor Si, was still in his meeting and this Englishman was resting during the heat of the midday sun, his mad dog days far behind him. He closed his eyes and reflected on this most wonderful of locations. He would come back here for a drink or three any day. He could hear the murmur of conversation before he was abruptly interrupted by a familiar soft irish accent.

"Car accident, Alex?"

"No, Smithers, it was a FUBAR of the highest order and my luck ran out in Cairo as you know. I've been working as a builder, handyman, roofer since I left school. Brendan, my co-worker had a proper psycho girlfriend, who drove her car into the scaffolding on the site we were working on in Tooting, aiming to do poor two-timing Brendan in. I was on the scaffolding, then I hit her car and then landed on the rockery in Mr. Conway's garden. That's how Mr. Conway described it. I still can't remember falling, hit my head pretty hard and was unconscious for an hour or so. Well, look at me, I'm held together by titanium now." Alex looked at the man, standing dressed in a fine linen tropical weight suit, a glass of Irish whiskey in his hand. "Please join me. You still working for the Bank?"

The man sat down signalling for the waiter to bring another round. "Oh, no. We parted company after Cairo. There was quite a stink over Blunt's actions, he was sacked and well I needed a fresh start. Moved over to the private sector. Gamekeeper now not poacher for a respectable banking group, HSBC. I troubleshoot after hacking incidents and robberies. Pays exceedingly well. I live in Hong Kong. My wife loves it. The life of a colonial wife suits her down to a tee, lunches, tennis, bridge, cocktail and dinner parties. I work just as hard, but there's no collateral damage. Poor Jack, not a day goes by when I don't regret aborting the whole operation after the American's got involved."

"Ifs buts and maybes are the road to ruin. You just live your life to the fullest and you can't do anything else. The horrors on the way, just temper you to be more of a bastard when you have to be. I fucking scared the living daylights out of the oiks on my NVQ roofing course, just with my tales of fucking school. Well, Point Blanc was the school from hell and I wasn't much better at Brookland, not with the crane and burning down the science block. C'est la vie. Lets drink to that… To Life."


	32. Chapter 32

Alex looked across Sydney Harbour from the rooftop of the Glenmore Bar, sipping a glass of Perrier-Jouet Champagne. A week ago today they had celebrated their union. Si was busy talking to an old friend. He could over hear snippets "OMG you just got married! I haven't seen you since you and Serge broke up. Who's the lucky fella?"

"Alex, this is Dexter. He's first soloist at the Opera House, trained at the Yehudi Menuhin School with Serge, my ex's BFF."

"A pleasure to meet you. As you can see I had a bit of an accident at work. Won't be going back to roofing, I can tell you. It was enlightening going through airport security as I light up metal detectors and have a had enough x-rays this year so far to irradiate me to the point I must glow in the dark."

"Oh, my. I take it you fell off a roof. Fall far?" The dapper fifty something noted the crutches, neck and leg brace on the young man at least twenty years Simon's junior.

Si laughed "If only it was just that, no the woman who drove into the scaffolding is facing two counts of attempted murder. It quite easily could have been a double murder. Her trial is something neither of us is looking forward to. I nearly lost the love of my life and yes Dex, you can say that to Serge. Alex is the one for me. I think I got that vibe during our first date at a Pashtun restaurant Alex used to wash dishes at".

Dexter smiled uncomfortably as he sat down and listened to Simon talk of finding true love and then compared this bliss to Serge's isolated life now, living as an exile in Monaco. The violinist without a recording contract for nearly a decade and no longer living with his illicit lover. Serge Monterey had kept few friends after his brief moment of infamy. He remained silent as Alex talked of their plans to go north, after a week or so in Sydney. He studied this young man, who had sharp eyes, was sat with the same guarded stance as Simon and the concert violinist guessed this was another soldier. He decided to play to his hunch "Which regiment did you serve with?"

Alex laughed genuinely "I'm not a grunt; ex-spook. Si's brother was most polite to me, I heard from Stella that he was beastly to your friend. Well, always best to be polite to trained killers like Si and myself."

"Ahh, I guessed from your mention of Pashtun cuisine. My son served with the Australian Army in Afghanistan. He's gone back as a charity volunteer. We made a mess and walked before clearing it up."

Alex shook his head "It was a mess before we got involved officially. Nothing will change until the criminal elements are eradicated. I had a brief stint involved with human traffickers, it shocked me to the core. The exploitation of desperate people, whose lives mean nothing. I was briefly one of them, reduced to mere chattel with no rights or any champions." He had over the past year come to terms with his past and was no longer at war with himself over those events. Finally, he had moved through the horror, guilt and self hatred to allow himself to live. "Si saved me from a very dark place. I've never been happier and Si's taught me that happiness and home is something you have to work for."

…..

"You were very open and kind to Dex. He moved to Australia with his family two years before my ex and I parted company and he was one of the few of Serge's friends to still keep in touch. I'm glad you were OK with him coming to dinner with us."

The tall blond was stretched out on the bed, both of his braces removed. "Do you think I'll ever meet Serge? Its not like you two talk or are in meaningful communication?"

"Well, with only three brief phone calls and one short and very uncomfortable crossing of paths in the past decade, means we aren't even frenemies." The last communication after the accident had been expected as they did have mutual friends. Serge knew his ex was cohabiting, had a marriage ceremony booked and that the young man in question was critically injured. "Bastard called you my mid life crisis fling. You were never a fling, I'm standing here, hard and wanting to arouse you. Lying there tempting me."

"That's the point of our honeymoon now. Forget sightseeing, sports and activities, just you and me; mano et mano, getting it on. This is all yours, as long as you desire me."

Sex, this was not just sex. Alex gasped as his skin was caressed, kissed and explored. Not energetic, but slow and calm, all the more sensual. "Si… Si… stop me coming… Shit I'm so close. If I come now, I'll be comatose before you get off."

Simon Carrington sat up. "Just a break or do you want a cock ring?"

Alex took a breath with the pause in stimulation "More… Lots more… cock ring… the one that goes around my balls as well. You're in charge. Oh, God I want you to take hours to your climax. I want to be begging you for release. Own me, darling."

"Love you like this. My Alex, my lover. To think no one else has ever seen you like this. Just me. Only me."

….

Marc Damon read the contact report on Alex, newly Rider-Carrington. The young man had survived another brush with death. He had attended two appointments for physiotherapy in Sydney and was using the hotel's gym to build up strength in his recently broken leg. The braces were there for stability and protection during outings, but he was swimming fine without them. The Director of CAD had chatted with the unit psychologist to question why the young man had wrongly been assessed as heterosexual at fourteen by both the CIA and MI6. Apart from that, Alex was not in the game anymore, happy as partner to the older photographer. The photos of Alex with his old handler, Derek Smithers was not of any concern as the Irishman was now an employee of a bank. One in Singapore on business and Alex on a stopover. Damon shook his head, drinks at the Raffles Hotel, something only a tourist would do.

Both Carringtons had chatted openly and with no guile during their full customs check at Sydney Airport. The agent observing the full search had watched as the former agent winced as he stood patiently and then gladly accepted the chair to sit down with genuine thanks for their kindness. Nothing untoward in their luggage. Customs card checked against the medical notes. The young man on a list of prescribed medication, his x-rays revealed metal pins, rods and plates in both ankles, chest under his armpit and his neck. Both men wearing matching rings and newly acquired prayer bracelets.

There was no need to follow the pair as they travelled to Ayers and then on to Cairns. No noted activity with any of the Snakeheads, as several generations of these thugs had fought for control after the demise of Winston Wu and Anthony Sean Howell. Their power and influence curtailed after the failure of Dragon Nine. Understandable for that reason alone to leave the Rider name behind.

The flag on Alex Rider's file was changed from unknown status to retired. Marc Damon failed to note Alex's name change. Let all references to the famed teen agent stay in the past.


End file.
